A Matter of Life and Death
by VelocityGirl1980
Summary: Lucas North's life is unraveling fast and the walls are closing in. Alone and cornered, his flashbacks take on a new intensity, including new visions of a strange time gone by. But he has no time to work out what they mean. He plunges to his end from the Enver Tower, but ends up somewhere else. Full summary inside. Not entirely serious. Mostly RH fic.
1. The Descent

**Summary:** Hand-cuffed to his own History, Lucas North's life has spiralled out of all control. The past rushes up to meet him with the speed of an oncoming train, but in amongst the flashbacks and night terrors – a woman he has never seen before. Who is she? What does she want? What could she possibly have to do with him? Not that it matters much anyway, because soon he will plunge to his death off the Enver Tower. But will it really all end there for him?

Spooks and Robin Hood crossover. I know it's insane, but the plot bunny just won't leave me alone. Lucas North jumps from the Enver Tower and wakes up in twelfth century Nottingham. His new mission: to put right an ancient wrong committed in a past life and atone for the sins he commited in his "current" life. Chapter one is set mainly in Spooks, but then crosses over to Robin Hood, where it will then mostly stay. I have no idea whether anyone reads these crossovers, but if they do I hope it is enjoyed! Please take a moment to review if you have time. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter One: The Descent.**

Gun shots ring out as car engines scream into life, shattering the rural tranquility like a dropped bomb. There's no time to return fire and Lucas's gun lies abandoned on the dashboard, sliding perilously in time to the sudden swerves of the car as he makes his escape along mercifully empty B roads. The rear window is smashed, a bullet took the whole thing out. But, he ignores that and keeps his eye on the road ahead; checking the rearview mirror every few seconds. Expecting his former colleagues to appear at any minute, he has driven almost five miles deeper into the countryside before he realises he's shaken them off, and finally allows himself to relax. He has the Albany file, he has Maya, and soon he will have his freedom.

The adrenaline subsides and his heartbeat slows as the only sound is the steady hum of the engine as the car speeds them ever onwards. He steals a glance at Maya, just a nano second. "We made it!" he informs her jubilantly, "Maya, we got away!"

Her silence is ominous; he realises she has been silent from the moment she got in the car – or rather, since he bundled her into the car. He steals another micro glance, and sees it now. The way her body twists in the seat, her face pressed into the window, her arm falls limp at her side to reveal a spreading stain of fresh blood, her top ragged where the bullet's deadly velocity tore through it, and straight into her chest.

"Oh, shit!"

He slams down on the breaks, the car crashing to a halt in the middle of the road and he leans over, turning her face to his. She is breathing, but only just, and her eyes are closed. Her strength, the thing that made her body live, is fast ebbing.

"Maya, stay with me," he pleads, "I'll get you to a hospital, just stay with me!"

Desperately he tries to stem the flow of the blood but it just keeps on spilling. "Oh, shit!" he curses again, growing frantic as her breathing all but ceases. He presses his hand into the open wound, near the neck of her stomach. As his hand sinks in, though, his own mind throws a curve ball of a flashback. He has had them before; knows he cannot fight it for long. But this is different, there is a woman dressed in white and he plunges a sword deep into her middle. The vision shuts off as quickly as it came, and Lucas easily pushes it aside. He focused only on Maya.

Already, he knows, it is too little too late. The acknowledgment of the fact comes with a suffocating wall of flashbacks, like a floodgate has opened in his head. This time, he is in familiar territory: He's back in his Russian prison cell, freezing water dripping into the towel over his face as the waterboarding starts again; the volts of electricity course through his whole body, paralysing him as a woman repeats the word "Sugar Horse" in heavily accented English. The cell gives way to the desert sands, and he plunges a sword into the soft, yielding, belly of a beautiful woman dressed in white. It's her again; the new ghost he has not met before. He looks in her eyes, wide with shock and pain, she was happy moments before he killed her. It's a new one on him and the shock jolts him physically back into the real world, the here and now, with Maya dying in his arms.

By the time he comes round, she is gone.

The knowledge seeps in slowly. Maya is dead. The love of his life, his key to being the man he was always meant to be, has slipped from his grasp. He looks her over, searching for even the remotest signs of life. Because even now, even if he has to push her in a wheelchair and bottlefeed her for the rest of her days, he just wants her to live. He brushes a kiss against her still warm lips. "Please, don't leave me," he pleads, the words almost inaudible against the oncoming rush of grief as he gets no reply. He cries the cry of a trapped animal, a felled lion, as he clasps her to his chest.

He doesn't try to stop the visions, now. Nothing from the past can hurt him any more; nothing can hurt him more than the loss of Maya. He closes his eyes as they come, giving in to their onslaught as they unfold in his mind: the Russian cell, the incessant flow of the water, he's climbing the walls under a harsh, naked, electric bulb. Then, he's in the desert. He can see the sand and feel the heat of the blazing sun. He is cradling the woman in white, still holding the sword that killed her. He killed her. He whispers a name: "Marian". He drops her, he realises what he has done and the guilt is overwhelming. The disembodied voice of Harry Pearce taunts him: "betrayal is a cancer; may it eat your soul". But the sands of the mystery desert give way to the grim streets of London. He's being given back to MI5 with a bag over his head, and all he can hear are the voices of his captors. "Make sure Lucas eats properly" says Arkady Kachimov – ever the Jekyll and Hyde. From under the hood, he recognises the voice of Harry Pearce: "Don't you think he's suffered enough?"

"No!" the real Lucas North cries, almost as if in response to the Harry in his memory. Hauled out of his living nightmare once more, he holds her one last time.

* * *

He leaves the Tracker with her body by the roadside; where his old team will trace it and find her. He moves as if in a dream. One minute driving, the next handing the Albany files over to the Chinese. It's like he's looking down on it all from high above. He is a traitor now. There can be no going to back to MI5 now. But he's not done yet. His life may be over, but he's taking someone down with him for what happened to Maya: Harry Pearce.

It was all so easy. A fake bomb in a busy trainstation, on a loop every three minutes. It won't go off, but Harry doesn't know that. He makes the call, and Harry agrees to meet him at the top of the Enver Tower. It works like a charm, and he's already back in the center of London, up on the Tower when Pearce arrives. He has his mobile phone out, and his gun is loaded and ready to fire. As soon as Harry appears, Lucas is on him with gun at his head.

"Why here?" Pearce asks, quite casually.

"I wanted us to be a lone for this," Lucas replies, as though they were just two old friends meeting for a catch-up on the roof of a high-riser.

Harry is still unphased. "This being my death?"

"Maya didn't need to die; you could have stopped it."

"Yes, I could have-" he admits before Lucas cuts him off, still with the gun at his head, edging him closer to the lip of the building. They will both fall at this rate, even before Lucas pulls the trigger.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I had to defend it, at all costs," Harry explains, his shirt tails flapping in the strong breeze. "I would do it all again."

"I loved her!" Lucas retorts, "I did all this for her!"

"Terrible things are done in the name of love-"

"Spare me!" Lucas snaps back, aiming a blow at the side of his former bosses head, opening a cut over his eye. "Well you're a traitor too, now. You gave me Albany, and I gave it to the Chinese. We're the same, now."

For the first time, there is a flicker of remorse in Harry's expression. "You didn't give them anything," he said, confusing the other man even more. "Albany doesn't work; it never did. It worked as a deterrent, so we kept it a State Secret. The Russians were so scared of it that we kept it anyway."

The truth hits Lucas like a speeding train. "She... She died for nothing?" It was like losing Maya all over again.

Harry doesn't answer that, but changes tack. "Lucas, come down with me. Whatever you've done, the nation owes you. We can do a deal."

No, he can't. Lucas is under no illusions about that. "I can't go back to prison," he whimpers like a wounded dog as the images of torture flash through his mind once more. He would sooner die than go back to that. "I'll go back to prison and die there while you sit in your office and tell people what you told me, once."

"Lucas, it's been three minutes; send the code to reset the bomb. No one else need die except me," says Harry, daring to hold out a hand.

The fake bomb had seemed such a coup at the time, but now it feels hollow. Like his final victory against the security forces had been snatched away from him. Now, he couldn't even avenge the death of Maya. "The bomb's not real, Harry," he admits, then adds with just a flicker of triumph. "But it did its job – it brought you here."

Nothing is real in this life. Not his identity, not Albany and not even the bomb on the bloody trainline. It was all shadows, and shadows of shadows. Harry knows that, he's an old pro at it, MI5 is in his blood. But when Lucas abandoned his old identity, his past followed him everywhere like an old stray dog. But he was escaping now. He may not have escaped with Maya as he had meticulously planned, but he was about to be set free.

"Turn around," he instructs Harry. He has one last trick to play on his old boss.

Harry does as he's told, but he's still trying to reason. "Whatever you've done, the service owes you, Lucas."

Lucas re-aims the gun in his hands, clasping it tightly, still trained on Harry's head.

"Who are you?" demands Harry, "are you John the murderer, or Lucas, the man who gave up his life to save so many lives?"

For a moment, Lucas ponders the question. He was born as John, and John had murdered. Lucas was a spy working for Queen and Country. He didn't know who he was anymore. All he knew for certain was that he'd truly reached the end of the road.

"I am nothing," he states baldly as he lowers the gun; takes one final leap from the top of the building and surrenders himself unto the laws of gravity.

* * *

"I would sooner die than marry you,"says the girl in white, edging back away from the point of his sword.

The girl isn't Maya. Lucas doesn't know who she is, or even who he is. He's the one with the sword but he cannot drop it, he cannot control himself. The anger, the betrayal, the pain that squeezes his heart, will not let him. He is just a vessel for this – other person – who's inhabiting his body and dictating his actions. He can't even formulate a reply to the girl. He wants to tell her that he has no intention of marrying her because he doesn't know who she is. But he's feeling someone elses emotions, and he is in pain.

"I am going to marry Robin Hood," she tells him. He thinks he's misheard the name. "I love Robin Hood," she adds. He didn't mishear the name.

The other person controling his body wins again. Lucas wants to congratulate the girl on her upcoming wedding to a mythical medieval outlaw, but it's too late, the sword is plunged deep into her abdomen and a torrent of blood spills out over his trembling, sword clutching, hand. The person who's feelings he has would sooner see her dead than with another man. He felt that way about Maya. He remembered seeing her with Vaughn as everything around him dissolves into an inpenetrable darkness.

* * *

"What does it do?"

The man sounds confused, but his voice reaches Lucas inwaves radiating through the darkness. He can feel his wrist being tugged, the sleeves of his jacket being roughly rolled back.

Another voice, different, joins the conversation. "It's like a timepiece, I think, but it's worn in the manner of a lady's bracelet. Look at the numbers and the tiny arms. Definitely a small timepiece bracelet."

He tries to move, but his body feels like lead. He can't even open his eyes. He would fall asleep again if it weren't for the voices and the people prodding at his body. Is this what lies beyond black? He had never imagined the afterlife before, even with his Minister father. He just assumed there would be nothing. That he would have plunged from the Enver Tower into a peaceful blackness and stayed there forever more. Looks like he was wrong.

"And what is this?" another voice asks, female but heavily accented this time. He is relieved it's not a Russian. He cannot feel himself being pinched, any more. They must be looking at something else they found on his person.

"Look, there are numbers all over the front. Press one, and it lights up a glass front with pictures. It is magic, I think."

"Nah, can't be. Let's have a look."

It occurs to Lucas that he is being robbed. Only he could be burgled straight after comitting suicide. All he can do is lie helpless as a new born on the ground. Lumpy and hard, he can tell he is outside. He can hear birds in the treetops, and small animals darting through unseen undergrowth. His training kicks in, and he carries on playing dead to buy time to find out exactly what is going on. Something isn't right.

Finally, someone kneels down at his side. Even with eyes closed he can feel himself being studied intensely. "I still think it's Guy." the person laughs. "But what's he wearing? What's with the hair cut? He looks the same, but different. He's got a better barber, that's for sure."

"I am telling you, that is not Guy of Gisborne. He's too skinny, too ... refined. Let's see what Robin thinks. Robin!"

Footsteps draw closer and finally Lucas pulls himself together and manages to open his eyes. The two men peering down at him leap back in alarm, one of them drops a mobile phone as he does so. His mobile phone. The one that connects straight back to the Grid. He leans forward stiffly to snatch it back before these people can make off with any state secrets that he has stashed on there in files. Nearby, an Asian girl with short hair is intently studying a pen drive that must have fallen from his pockets. Questions crash into his mind. So many that he doesn't know where to begin.

"Er, can I have that back, please?" he asks the girl, having given up on anything useful.

"He's alive!" one of the others gasps.

"That's not Guy."

Lucas looks at the man who said that. Short, with a bandana type scarf round his head. "No," he replies, still utterly perplexed. "I'm Lucas North and I'm supposed to be dead. Who're all you?" He can barely believe he even said that out loud.

They're a dirty, ragged bunch. It's like they've been living in this woodland for years. And he can see he is in woodland. There was no traffic to be heard, so he knows he is in deep. Forests in England like this are rare. He cannot possibly be so far in that he cannot get back onto a main road soon, though. They're all gaping at him, seemingly struck dumb. He looks at them, and they stare dumbly back at him. Something is wrong – he's known that all along. It's only now he realises just how wrong it really is.


	2. Whatever Floats Your Goat

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who has read this story, despite its oddities. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own neither Spooks nor Robin Hood – BBC and respective production companies gets credit for both.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Whatever Floats Your Goat.**

Each looks to the other and back again; each dares the other to make the first move and the stand-off swells in the stilted silence. Meanwhile, Lucas's thoughts are in a whirl. He takes in their attire, their demeanour: New Age travellers? Maybe. Students waylaid on a camping trip? Possibly. His eye alights on the oldest and tallest of them with his full beard and lined, sun-tanned skin. He's definitely old enough to know better. Whoever – whatever - they are, he knows he needs to get away from them. Their scrutiny makes his nerves scream: he's a spy, he's incognito at all times. Life under the microscope of attention doesn't suit him and he's shrivelling under the intensity of their interest in him. It's like he's on display in a zoo. He has to go, and go now.

To that end, Lucas cautiously props himself up on his elbows. His limbs are stiff, but in working order; the same with his knees. Nothing is broken, nothing is damaged. There is nothing to suggest that he leapt from the top of a high riser not twenty minutes ago. Their eyes follow him as he rises in slow easy stages to his feet, discomfiting him even further. But once he's up, he merely straightens his jacket, feels the reassuring presence of his gun still in it's holster and concealed from view, and dusts himself down. Brazen it out, he thinks to himself. Then, he looks to the oldest man again, assuming he is the leader of this gang.

"Look," he says, extending a hand to him, a gesture of friendship to ease his escape. "Apologies for crashing your party, friend. I hope I didn't cause a scene, but I really need to get back to London now, can you point me to the road?" It occurs to him then that he left Maya's body in a place like this in Epping Forest. From the looks on their faces, they could already have found her body and put two and two together.

However, the older man steps forward and after giving Lucas's hand a cautious once over grasps it firmly in the manner of a handshake, at least. "You were lying there unconscious," he explains gruffly, "we can't just let you go wandering off!"

As if emboldened by their leader's advance, others soon start getting to their feet and coming over to where Lucas stood. This time, the girl who's accent tells him she is from the Middle East, is next to speak: "John is right, you must rest," she implores him, "and forgive me, you do seem a little confused."

Lucas gives a shake of his head as though trying to dispel the fog that clouds his mind, but his reply is cut off. This time, by the unshaven bandanna wearer: "And you haven't even got anything to eat. What are you going to do for food between here and London? London's hundreds of miles away, you'll never make it. You won't even get out of Nottingham at this rate, not if you keep passing out all the time. I bet that's why you passed out, too, there's not a scrap on you. I've seen more meat on a Butcher's dog than on you. I was just saying to Little John here-"

"Shut up, Much!"

Lucas blinked away the confusion as two more men appeared from between the nearby trees. They were similar in age, and the one who had spoken was slender and dark haired, pale skinned. He was holding a Laptop, to Lucas's intense relief. But it looked familiar to Lucas. He had seen it before. But at least it appears this one knows more about technology than the others who didn't even seem to know what a wrist watch or pen drive is. However, as the young man holds it out, he gives Lucas a deeply apologetic look.

"I'm really sorry, mate," he says, handing it back to him. "Whatever this thing is, I think it's broken. We got the top bit back on, but nah, nothing happening with it. What is it, by the way? I'm good at crafts, but I never saw anything like this in my life. I'm Will Scarlet, by the way."

All the talk is washing over Lucas's head and the ground sways beneath his feet as he takes the laptop in his trembling hands. His breathing speeds up in time with his racing heart. This had the Albany files on it; he gave it to the Chinese and he knows he can't possibly still have it now. It was nowhere near him when he jumped. He only had his phone, his gun and the contents of his jacket pockets. Crumpled receipts, a stick of gum, and fluff that accumulated in all his pockets. This wasn't happening, he couldn't let it happen.

The second newcomer to the clearing steps forwards. Lucas can just make out the old-fashioned long bow slung over his left shoulder and a quiver of arrows at his back. He's smiling, friendly, and extends a hand. "Robin Hood, at your service," he declares breezily, then laughs: "you're right, you know, he does look a bit like Gisborne!"

The whole forest spins. "You're not Robin Hood," Lucas murmurs into the fog. "You're not wearing green tights." His head is going like a child's top, making the scenery a green and brown haze as his head spins and spins. He tries to step back and sit down at the same time, but he drops the laptop and the earth beneath his feet rushes up to meet him as he ends up falling in an undignified sprawl on the forest floor as darkness closes over him once more.

* * *

Memories form a film reel in his head. It's the familiar Russian prison cell first. The water seeping through the towel over his face, running into his mouth and down his nostrils as he fights to breathe, sucking the cold fluids into his burning lungs. He lashes out like a landed fish, bringing his captors down hard on him. He is pinned in place as he drowns and in the background, continually, the woman repeats the words "sugar horse" over and over. The scene is punctuated with the sinister crackle of an electric charge being revved into life before it's clamped on his body. Then, the deathly efficient clip of steel capped boots pace a tiled floor, echoing down the prison and reaching the darkness of his solitary cell; darkness that is thrown into temporary relief by a flickering bare bulb. The clip, clip, clip of the boots makes him want to tear out his hair before the scene explodes and he is back in London. "Hello, Harry," he says as Arkady Kachimov pulls the bag off his head and hands him back to MI5. "No one has found Lucas's body," says a disembodied female voice as the scene fades into darkness. Ruth? "Are you sure he jumped, Harry? We would have found his body by now."

Lucas knows he needs to stay with this, but it's like grasping at smoke. With frustrating fluidity, the scene shifts once more and the desert sands form out of the momentary darkness. The woman in white is back, telling him she is going to marry Robin Hood. "I love Robin Hood," she says, her smile serene as he involuntarily plunges the sword into her belly. This time, the scene extends itself. He can see her body doubling over the blade as the shock and fear register on her beautiful face. He watches in horror as her expression changes, freezing her smile into a death mask. He cannot believe what he has done to her. "Marian," he whimpers, almost silently to himself. He hasn't just killed the girl; he is now dead inside, himself. Without this girl, his life has no meaning, no substance. He senses another presence nearby, a presence that thrills and terrifies him in equal measure. He looks to see who it is, but the pictures dissolve in a sepia nebulous mess.

Another scene change, and is holding Maya's body, rocking her back and forth into the sleep of death as she bleeds herself to her end. The voice of Harry Pearce taunts him: "betrayal is a cancer; let it eat your soul."

"Maya!"

Lucas awakens with a violent start, his heart beat hammering against his ribs and his body coated in a cold sweat. His throat is raw, like he's been shouting aloud in his sleep. Rough hands appear from the semi-darkness and push him back downwards, a male's voice shushing him, lulling him back into passivity, easing him like a mother back to his makeshift bed. There is a fire lit nearby, and he can see he is being sheltered in some form of cave. He remembers the face hovering over him in the gloom, but the name has escaped him.

"Remember me? I'm Robin Hood," the man helpfully reminds Lucas.

How could he have forgotten? His heart sinks as he finds himself still trapped in this living fantasy. For now, he reasons, he should give up trying to make sense of it all.

"Don't be afraid; we'll look after you, we'll see you right," Robin assures him.

Lucas's throat is dry and can manage nothing more than a weak, indecipherable croak as he lays back down again. As his eyes adjust to the gloom, he can see the worried faces of the others sitting around a small fire just beyond the opening of the cave. He can sense he has been the center of their conversations for some time. He is covered in a threadbare blanket, his clothes neatly folded by the side of his mossy feeling "bed", but the cave is full of the warmth of the fire. To his horror, he has been dressed in what looks like a big, dirty white smock with lacing at the throat. The fabric itches and chafes his inflamed skin. The man calling himself "Robin Hood" raises an earthenware bowl to Lucas's lips, and he's so thirsty he cannot help but swallow the bitter contents.

"It's wine," explains Robin when he sees Lucas's reaction. "Stolen from the Sheriff and kept for special occasions. I think your need is greater than ours right now. Then eat this bread Much left for you and soothe his battered nerves. He hasn't stopped worrying about you since you passed out again." Robin nods to the man in the bandanna like headscarf.

The wine is revolting. Nothing like the French Cab Sav he was used to at home. It was even worse than the water he was forced to drink in Russia, and he had a sneaking feeling that that was straight from the ditches outside. Still, he remembers his manners.

"Thank you," he says, lowering the bowl to the floor. It's stony, definitely the floor of a cave.

He kneads at his eyes with the heels of his palms, easing away the residue of his nightmares and terrors. Robin, meanwhile, has become distracted with something. With a palpitation of panic, Lucas realises it's his gun, still loaded from where he went to fire at Harry on top of the Enver Tower.

"Don't touch that," he warns hoarsely, "the safety catch is off!"

Robin holds it between thumb and forefinger at arms length. "Safety Catch?" he repeats. "What is it? What's so dangerous about it?"

"It's a gun, drop it," Lucas hisses low, and this time Robin hands it back to him with a deeply sceptical look on his face.

"You'll be much better off with a longbow, you know," he advises Lucas. "That thing will be useless against the Sheriff's men!"

With the gun placed neatly on top of his neatly folded jeans, Lucas settles back down in his bed type thing with his arms folded behind his head. He cannot help but wonder at it all: they seem like harmless English eccentrics, living in the wild and pretending to be Medieval Outlaws. He can see clearly that there's no harm in them. They're like the infamous Welshman who insists he's Merlin the wizard. Crazy, but in a good way. What they're doing isn't hurting anyone else, and by Monday they'll have dropped the act and probably be back at their call center desk jobs. Maybe it was the wine, but he was beginning to feel at one with himself again. More so now that he'd ascertained these people's low to non-existent threat level.

"I went to a Battle of Towton re-enactment once," Lucas lies easily, he'd done no such thing, but he needed to come up with some common ground. "It was great. Is that what you do?"

"The what?" asks Robin, frowning at him as he knelt by the bedside. "Some of us are not long back from Crusade, but I don't think we want to 're-enact' it just yet!"

Lucas laughs. Of course, the Battle of Towton took place during the Wars of the Roses, and "Robin" is still in character. The Wars of the Roses haven't happened yet. "Forgive me, I should have known," Lucas replies drowsily from his bed. "I must say though, it's all very authentic-" he glances around the cave, taking in each individual in turn "-your costumes are very real. Not quite my cup of tea, I'm more of a weekend in Paris kind of a man, but whatever floats your goat."

"You travel all the way to Paris just for a few days? It must take months to get there, and you need more than a floating goat to get you over the Narrow Sea."

He decides against bringing the Eurostar into the conversation. "Look, I won't spoil your fun for much longer, I'll be gone first thing," he assures "Robin". For a moment, he imagines what Ros would make of all this, and has to stifle a laugh. "Just don't rob all my stuff to give to the poor!" he quips, closing his eyes again, ready to slip back into sleep.

As he goes, however, he hears Robin talking on: "As long as you're certain. And don't worry, I'll get you a safe escort so the Sheriff's men won't hassle you."

Lucas can't quite tell if he's thanked his hosts out loud, or just thought the words as he drifts off into another, this time natural, sleep.

* * *

It's shortly after dawn when the commotion awakens him. A woman is shouting for Robin, the others are running pell mell about the place, gathering up belongings in a riot of activity. His reactions are dull-witted from sleep as he pulls his t shirt and jacket on over the sacking cloth they dressed him in the night before, his jeans on over the lot. He finds his trainers stacked at the foot of the bed, and he stuffs his gun down the back of his jeans, ensuring the safety catch is definitely on.

"Locksley is under attack!" the woman cries again. "Hurry!"

"What's happening?" he asks, fearing the answer. It could be Harry Pearce, finally tracking him down. If his vision was true, and his body hasn't been found … his thoughts trail off as someone calls over to him.

"It's a raid. Stay here, we'll handle it."

"I think I know who it is," he replies firmly, pulling himself together, "I'm coming with you."

When he gets outside, he sees that Robin is already waiting for them and talking to a young woman who has her back to the rest of them. Lucas, however, follows the others as they race through the woods. His gun is still concealed, hoping that this is all part of their role play, re-enactment, whatever it is they do. But it could be someone looking for him, and this would be an ideal cover for them. He hasn't entirely forgotten everything yet. So he follows, ready for the worst and hoping for the best.

Ignoring the low hanging branches that snag at his clothes and hair, Lucas runs on, breathless and sweating until they reach a small village. The sounds of women crying pierce the air, babies wailing and horses grunting, their hooves pounding down beaten earth tracks. Lucas has never seen anything like it. The houses look like they're made of cardboard, but he knows it's really wattle and daub. They're squat, ramshackle affairs, and it all looks horribly real. The villagers run to and fro as their houses are burned by men in dark uniforms and steel helmets on their heads. A man lies dead in the "street" with an arrow projecting from his back. The attackers horses are huge, terrifying to the people they gleefully terrorise. The air is soon thick with smoke from burning huts and homes.

For a moment, they all hunker down in the undergrowth out of sight of the marauding troops. Lucas has no word for them, but they're no soldiers that he's ever seen. One of them tramples down an enclosure of pigs, setting the squealing beasts free, sending them scattering noisily into the fleeing citizens of the village. He cannot believe what he is seeing; this is no game, no role play; this is really happening. But the time for questions was not at that moment.

He eases himself forwards on his belly, ignoring the hissed warnings of his hosts to stay where he was, and came to rest in an incline in the ground. From there, he could see a soldier bearing down on a lone woman with a baby clutched to her breast. He knows what's going to happen when she is caught, and the pursuant soldier won't do her the courtesy of asking permission. Without even thinking about it, he reaches into waistband of his jeans, draws his gun and takes aim.

The shot blasts out like an explosion and the would-be rapist instantly falls to the ground, dead before he hits the decks. The sudden noise has startled the others, but it has given his hosts the opportunity they needed for an advance. They're well practised, it seems, and the attackers are soon set to flight despite their superior numbers. It was guerilla warfare of a kind he has never seen before. Primitive by his own standards, but expert given their lack of resources. These people were never on comms, never mind off.

While the rest of his hosts give chase to the last of the soldiers, Lucas runs over to the woman with the baby. She looks up at him from where she has fallen, bewildered and terrified, clutching her wailing baby in one hand, the holding the neck of her torn dress closed with the other.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he assures her, reaching out a hand to help her up.

But she scoots away, her breath coming in short rasps. "Please," she begs, "not the baby; spare my child, please sir."

He doesn't understand. Did she not see him gun down her assailant? "Honestly, I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. I just saved your life, didn't I? He adds silently.

Lucas looks from the trembling woman to the body of the soldier. There is a neat, perfect, entry wound in the middle of his forehead with just a faint trickle of blood leaking into his open left eye. That means his brains have been blasted out of the back of his head, through the exit hole that has probably torn his skull away. He goes to take a step closer to the woman, lowering himself so he is level with her, but then movement catches his eye.

The man is on horseback, but unlike the others, he wears no uniform. He is swathed in black, scowling at the retreating soldiers, and bellowing oaths and curses at Robin Hood who has his bow and arrow trained directly on him. But he shows no fear. For a moment, they make eye-contact, and in that moment, Lucas feels such powerful fear he drops to the ground shaking. The woman sees it, too. She looks from the man on horseback and back to Lucas, and her jaw hits her chest.

She points to the man. "I thought..." her words trail off as she turns to look at Lucas. "Gisborne" she adds dumbly.

Lucas silences her with a finger pressed to his lips. Whoever that was, he didn't like the look of him, and his over-whelming urge was to stay well out of his sight, despite their brief glimpse of one another. He thanks his lucky stars that his gun is automatic, and the next bullet is ready to be fired if need be. Whoever Gisborne is, and whatever link they have to each other could wait.

The minutes tick by; minutes of a loaded silence with just distant shouts every so often. It seemed the raid on the small village had been an abysmal failure. But before too long, a shadow falls over Lucas and the woman. A human shadow. Lucas twists on the ground, and finds himself looking up at Robin and one of his companions. They're both looking in awe at the body of the soldier.

"God almighty," says Robin, "you did that with … er, what's it called again?"

Lucas's words are thick in his dry mouth. "A gun."

* * *

They regroup quickly. Seeing them like this, Lucas observes that they operate as a slick machine. Just like his old Section, only with different weaponry and different standards. They know what they're doing, and they do it seamlessly. However, where before they looked at him as an oddity that had stumbled into their midst, they now eye him with suspicion. The gun, and what it can do, has terrified them. He is scaring them and he senses the game changing swiftly. He trails after them as they walk back to camp, and catches snippets of conversation.

"Did you hear the noise it made? Like black powder."

"That guard barely had a mark on him – dead as a door nail."

"It's frightening. Where's he come from anyway?"

"And that stuff we found on him..."

"...something's wrong with him, and we need to keep a hold of him."

"This I do not like! Not one bit. Something funny's going on, and he's in the middle of it."

"Well, I'm not about let him go swanning off now."

Do they think he's deaf? He wonders. But he cannot run, now. He doesn't even know what year he's in, never mind where he's going to go. This isn't his world, and he's at their mercy. He chides himself, but he can feel tears of frustration and desperation begin to well in his eyes. God alone knew what would come of him, now.


	3. To Be The Better Man

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for reading this story. Usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Reviews would be appreciated, but are not essential. I hope everyone enjoys the story!

* * *

**Chapter Three: To Be The Better Man.**

Lucas finds himself, once more, alone with Robin in the gang's cave. From what he could guess, there was another area in which the Outlaws sheltered, but they did not trust him enough to take him there. Given what had occured during that morning's raid, Lucas wasn't holding his breath, either. He's sitting on the makeshift bed, watching as Robin paces up and down, occasionally stopping to nudge the embers of the fire with the toe of his boot. Lucas follows his progress back and forth, trying to hold off the flood of memories of interrogations past; triggered, he knows, by the one about to come. At least waterboarding is unheard of in Medieval England, but he still remembers seeing the rack at the Tower of London during a school trip. He suppresses a shudder, and turns to his newest captor.

"I was trying to help you," says Lucas, apologetic despite having saved a woman from being violently raped. "I don't know where I am, or why I'm here, but I knew that woman needed my help."

Robin stops, hunkers down in front of Lucas, and he can see he understands his intentions. "I know, but we do not kill unless there is no other way," he replies. "The others are unnerved, too. They're scared, and I understand why. They look to me for protection, and to be honest; I'm unsure of you, too. Who are you? Where have you come from? What is all this ... stuff? Is it all dangerous? Is it all going to explode in our faces like your ... gun."

"My name is ..." he trails off. Lucas, or John? He opts for his friendly persona. The killer, he decides, is nothing more than a stain on the London pavings. "My name is Lucas North; I was born in Cumbria, but I live – lived – in London. I honestly don't know how I came to be here, all I know is I am not supposed to be here. I haven't been to Nottingham in years."

He pauses, wary of talking too much lest he drown his interrogator with information. But Robin is still scrutinising him, Lucas takes his silence as a sign to continue. "These things I have are just equipment. Only the gun is dangerous, it's my only weapon, and I cannot hand it over to you," he explains truthfully. He leans over the bed, to where his belongings were left the night before. "This is my mobile, this is a laptop and this is an MP3 player. They're not dangerous at all." He didn't even know he had the MP3 player, but it was found in the pocket of his jacket.

He watches as Robin gingerly prods at each item in turn, frowning and clouding his hazel eyes. Lucas doesn't try to stop him, it's not as if they're any practical use in this time. Instead, he takes up the mobile phone and presses the 'on' switch. It flares into life, even playing the little welcome jingle, but there is no signal at all. Only the remaining battery power gets it as far as it does, and that won't last long.

Robin is transfixed by it, watching the display light up as though it were spellbinding magic. It occurs to Lucas that, to Robin, that is exactly what it is so he hands it over so he can see for himself.

"Touch the little pictures," he tells Robin. "Any that are on the screen. Just a tap with your fingertip will do."

Robin looks sceptical. "I don't want to break it; this must be priceless."

"You won't and it isn't. Everyone has them where I come from. We couldn't live without them."

Robin looks back down at the screen, and cautiously prods the icon for the text messages. He jumps back, drops the phone with a gasp. "It moved!" he cries, "the pictures moved! And before, it played a sort of music. How did you get it to do that?"

"It's automatic, it just plays whenever you turn it on," answers Lucas, retrieving the phone from the cave floor.

Robin notices that the phone has gone dark again, and his expression falls. "I'm sorry, Idid break it, didn't I?"

"No, it goes dark again after a few minutes to conserve its power supply," he explains. "All of these devices, except the gun, run off batteries, and they won't last forever unless I recharge them. I can't do that here; haven't got the right equipment. Nowhere to plug it in; no electricity."

Robin is fighting against his inquisitiveness and trying to keep on topic. Lucas can tell he's bursting with questions about these strange, bewitched, items Lucas is introducing to him. However, he succeeds. "But where do you come from that does have ... er, elec-trickery ... did you call it?"

"Elec-tricity," Lucas corrects him as he pulls out a crumpled reciept from his coat pocket and studies it carefully. It's from a branch of Tesco Express supermarket, for a packet of tea bags and a pint of milk. Fully pasteurised, full fat. A copy of The Guardian newspaper. A bar of chocolate. All the small things Lucas was going to have to learn to live without. He finds the date on the reciept, and points it out to Robin. "That is where I come from," he informs the Outlaw.

Robin is puzzled, however. "Fifteen, four, two-thousand and ten?"

It's the date formatting that has him thrown. Lucas translates for him. "Fifteenth of April, 2010," he clarifies. "You have to believe me: I don't know how I got here. I jumped from a Tower, that's all."

"But it's 1197 here," Robin explains, causing Lucas to inwardly recoil. "You're almost a thousand years away from home." He gets to his feet again and resumes pacing. "Something must have happened as you fell. Something about that place, and that time, that brought you here. I mean, it's logical, isn't it?"

No, thinks Lucas, it is anything but logical. He replies with a non-committal shrug of his shoulders and an expansive yawn that almost cracks his jaws. Robin notices with an apologetic smile.

"Look," he says, sitting next to Lucas on the makeshift bed. "You can't leave here, you're so far out of your depth you won't last five minutes, and from what you say, this stuff won't help you here. But we can. Stay with us, here in the forest and we'll look after you -"

Lucas's pride was pricked. "I don't need looking after!" he protested, "and there must be a reason why I'm here. I need to find out what it is, I must get back to London."

Robin, however is adamant. "If you were meant to be in London, why did you land in Nottingham, with us?" he poses a relevant question, and Lucas can't deny it. "If you were meant to come here, you landed in the heart of my gang for a reason. That's what I think," he theorises before ending the conversation as though it was a done deal: "Have a nap. I'm going to tell the others what you told me. They're gonna love this!"

* * *

Sleep steals through him like a poison; dragging him down as he meets it with only feeble resistence. Straight into the darkness, straight into his dreams of a life he left behind. All the usual suspects form a ghostly parade in his sleep dimmed mind. Russians flit through his brain, chased by Harry and Ros, Jo and Ben. Maya bleeds to death in his arms. Then, the girl in white. "I love Robin Hood," she tells him, just before he plunges a sword in her belly. Only now, he has made the connection and the shock jolts him violently from his dreams and back into the land of the living.

"Sssh!" a voice from above soothes him as he throws himself bolt upright. "Sshhh!"

Hands reach out and place themselves on his shoulders, easing him back down on to the bed.

"My name is Jack," says the female voice. "That's D-J-A-Q kind of Jack."

It takes a moment for Lucas to realise that she is introducing herself to him, such is the whirl of thoughts spinning in his head as he wakes. But finally, after a small delay, he raises an easy smile and extends his hand. "Hello Djaq, I'm Lucas North."

Her hair is boyishly short, and her large brown eyes are the gentlest, most doe-like, that he has ever seen. The effect is warming, more so when she smiles, bringing out the dimples in her cheeks. "I already know you, of course," she explains, "but I wanted to introduce myself properly." Djaq goes quiet, her gaze drops to a wooden bowl she cradles in her hands, and then looks back up at him. "I don't mean to embarass you, Lucas, but I – well, we all did actually – heard you crying out in your sleep. So I made you this, I think it will help you rest more peacefully."

Lucas takes the bowl gratefully, genuinely touched at the concern of his new companions. "Thank you," he stammers, acutely embarassed by the revelation,"that's very kind of you."

Djaq beams. "Much picked the strawberries to make it taste sweeter; I know you English love sweet things more than anything else!"

Keen to change the subject, Lucas makes polite enquiries. "Where do you come from?"

When he asks, a sadness seems to fill those doe-eyes. "I am from the Holy Lands," she explains. "I was captured and meant as a slave, but Robin rescued me. It's the Crusades, you see..." her words trail off.

The beginning of it, he thinks. The European subjugation of the Middle East, the very seeds of the conflict they're still fighting in his time. Even in his life time, the European super-powers looked to tame the wild Middle East, although for them the motive was oil and revenge, rather than having God on a stick. Lucas keeps all this to himself, of course. Djaq is sad enough already, without having him heap the misery on.

"You must have been so scared," he answers, almost inaudible because of the inadequacy of what he is saying. "But it looks like you have found friends."

And as quick as a flash, Djaq brightens up again. "This cause is mine," she proudly states. "These are simple people, Lucas, but they will give you their last if your need was greater than theirs."

Lucas laughs as he remembers the stories he was told as a child. "So, do you really steal from the rich to give to the poor?"

"Of course we do!" she cries back. "The taxes levied to fund the Crusade are breaking the people, here. The rich have too much, so we ... " she casts about for an adequate explanation.

"You redistribute the wealth?" Lucas helps her out.

Djaq grins. "That's it!" she brightly exclaims. "An equal redistribution of wealth."

They both laugh as they bounce words off each other. Whatever it is these Outlaws do, it would turn his old boss's hair white. Communism in action, and it would see the Government in an early grave. But there was no malice in these people. They weren't like the Russians, or the other despotic regimes he'd come up against in his life. These were just simple people doing what they could to help their poorer neighbours.

Eventually, when they have had enough of dressing up their lifestyle in wordplay, Djaq stops him again. "Come outside to the camp and meet the others," she suggests, "they didn't mean to treat you with such suspicion this morning, and now they want to get to know you. You're one of us, now."

Nervous, but aware that it had to be done, Lucas follows Djaq outside, to where Robin and the others are gathered around a large campfire. A hog is roasting on a spit, it's fat dripping and hissing in the lapping flames. Djaq stops, and begins introducing him to everyone present, making him feel like the new boy at a new school.

"Lucas," she says, pointing to the pale skinned young man who's tried to fix his laptop the day before. "This is Will Scarlet. He can make anything."

Then, she turned to a large, wild looking man with a shaggy beard. "This is Little John."

Then came a man in a bandanna, a talker that seemed to grate on the nerves of the others. He was at some pots and pans, now, though. "This is Much. He can cook anything, and brilliantly."

"You already know Robin, of course," she says, skipping over the gang leader and making him pout at being so neglected. Then, Djaq relents. "So be it, this is Robin; Robin, this is Lucas."

He greets everyone in turn, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries as they make room for him around their camp fire. They're like fluid, and their numbers merely shift and accommodate him with fluid ease. It's almost as if he's always been there, although he is content to listen to their banter rather than try to join in at such an early stage. He listens, fascinated by their chatter and jokes, rapt by their stories of how they came to be living wild in he forest. He is awestruck by Robin's true story: his time as a nobleman, his fights for Richard I, Coer D'Lion as Lucas knew him from School, in the Holy Lands, and how he gave it all up to help the poor of his home county. Much, the cook, had gladly followed him here, only to find themselves made Outlaws by the Sheriff.

There is a pause in the chatter as Much begins to serve up the roast Hog and wild vegetables, and Lucas is surprisingly touched and moved by the way in which they include him in everything, even their food. "Thank you, Much. You're very kind," he tells the man, and causes him to almost faint with shock at such acknowledgment.

"See!" he shouts pointedly to his friends. "That's appreciation, right there. You may want to familiarise yourselves with it!"

"Oh, shut up, Much!" the others all chorus as they begin to eat hungrily.

The silence that follows is a companiable one. Lucas glances down at what's on his plate. It doesn't look promising, and it tastes of the campfire, but he will eat the lot out of gratitude, and enjoy it. He was used to additives and preservatives, and this fresh produce was new to him. Once they were finished, he helped with the washing up. Water collected from the nearby river, boiled over the fire, with melted pig fat (from the same hog) having been used to make "soap" for the washing. He chatted with Much as they worked together to tidy up, while the others set about making their camp for the night.

Once they were finished, Lucas turned to Much. "Er, is there anywhere I can wash?" He has not bathed since the morning of his "death". Nor has he brushed his teeth and his mouth tastes like something died in it, but he thinks Djaq is best placed to deal with that.

Much, as the others, is obliging. "Follow me," he instructs Lucas as he leads the way out of their forest clearing.

He presses on through the trees, leading Lucas through dense undergrowth, through a spot where the trees grew close together, affording a degree of privacy. But there's no water in sight until they reach another clearing further up land away from the camp. There is a ravine down which a waterfall cascades into the fast flowing river where they get their cooking water from. Much points the way.

"Look out for falling rocks," he advises Lucas as he begins to retreat back to camp.

Great, thinks Lucas as he watches the waterfall. Falling rocks in freezing waters that were probably dirtier than him. In the absence of indoor plumbing – in the absence of living in doors – he knows he must make do. Gingerly, he begins his descent into the ravine, mindful of loose ground and protruding tree-trunks that threaten to trip him on any false step.

* * *

"Well," he mutters to himself as he looks into the clear waters, spotting the lithe dart of various silver-finned fish, "this'll be interesting."

He looks around, still fully clothed but already self-conscious, but when he sees no one is nearby, he begins to strip. He's still wearing the rough, sack-like garment that the Outlaws had dressed him in the night before, and pulls that off with relish. He kicks off his Calvin Kliens, and dips them in the water, anything to get them relatively clean. Once they're in, however, he steps forward, testing the icy waters with a toe before taking the plunge.

It's so cold it knocks the breath out of his lungs. He tries to draw on eight years of a Russian prison cell to put it perspective. But his eight years of torture have been tempered by three of hot and cold running water and an in door central heating system. Hell has finally frozen over whatever way he looks at it. The best way to over-come, he decides, is to plunge right in. This he does, deliberately blanking the cold from his mind.

He swims the width of the water, struggling against the rapids as he goes, and by the time he swims back, he is not alone. She hasn't seen him yet because she's concentrating so hard on descending the ravine without falling head over heels. Her hood is pulled low over her face so he can't really see her properly, either. Before it's too late, he hurries out of the water and wraps the sacking cloth around his hips, leaving nothing his naked upper body and a tapestry of tattoos showing. There's nowhere to hide by the time he's done, and the girl stops abruptly in her tracks as soon as she sees him.

"Oh! My!" she gasps, spinning around and pulling the hood even lower, "I didn't see anything, I promise," she adds, "I just came down to introduce myself. They didn't say you were..."

Lucas is mortified. While she has her back to him he pulls the smock on properly, letting it fall to mid-thigh. It feels even worse against his wet skin. "Er," he says to her back, "I'm decent, now."

He steps forward and extends his wet hand as the girl turns and lowers her hood. "You must be Lucas," she says, eyes coyly to the floor, "my name's Marian Knighton."

His heart beat races with a painful jolt against his ribs as he recognises her instantly. He can see her in his mind's eye, doubled over the blade that he has plunged into her belly; he can see her expression of jubilation freeze as the shock of the death blow hits her. He staggers back, wild-eyed with terror at what he thinks he has done. He tries to erase the residue of the vision from his mind, but Marian remains.

"Lucas, are you all right?" she asks, stepping forwards to help him.

She shrugs off her cloak and throws it around his shoulders. "Here, keep warm, you shouldn't bathe here without a fire, and I'll box Robin's ears for not looking after you properly!" she mutters furiously as she starts steering up away from the water's edge. "Good Lord, you're shaking like a leaf. Really, I am going to kill that man!"

"No, you mustn't," Lucas retorts, suddenly struggling against Marian's help.

She suddenly backs off. "I didn't mean it," she protests, enough to calm Lucas down.

He realises how insane he must look, and takes deep breaths to stay his racing nerves.

"Forgive me," he says, still breathless, still on edge. "I just took a strange turn."

She steers him over to the shade of a nearby Beech tree, sitting him down against the broad trunk. "Just rest," she implores him kindly. "Just remember, never go in that river without making the fire first. It's just common sense."

He wants to tell her all about the dreams he's had, dreams of before he even fell from the Enver Tower, that they know each other already, and that he is her murderer. But for now, all he can do is shiver and wonder where his underpants got to.


	4. Marian

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews, and to those who alerted the story. Your input means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Thanks again for reading, I hope it's an enjoyable one, and reviews would be received gratefully.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Marian**

The sun is beginning to set as Lucas and Marian slowly pick their way through the trees, and back towards the Outlaw's camp. The sky is lit up in a brilliant golden orange that seems to glow through the boughs of the trees, turning the leaves an incandescent green. Lucas has never seen anything like it; not even during his rural childhood. By that time all the trees had gone, leaving protected "green-belt" fields alone. That was a sparse, barren kind of rural; this is a paradise by comparison.

He is dressed in his own clothes again, and carries the sacking cloth nightshirt loosely in his hands. Dropping it on the floor of the forest, he lays down on top of it. Marian responds by looking at him as if he's running to madness.

"What are you doing?" she asks, an uncertain smile parting her lips.

He pats the cloth at his side. "Join me," he says, "and just look at the sky."

She snorts with laughter. "You're mad," she observes with a giggle, but she does as he says and tentatively lies down. She rolls onto her back, and looks up in the same way Lucas does.

Side by side, they both look upwards at the canopy of sun drenched leaves. Marian frowns, and gives a shrug. "I still don't see it," she says. "What are you looking at?"

"Yes you do; just open your eyes and see," he replies, his voice distant as he looses himself in the view. "It's beautiful out here. Don't you see the way the sun shines through the leaves; look at the colours."

Then she sees it, but she doesn't understand. She lives here, in the past. She has no idea of the urban jungle in which Lucas has lived his adult life. The endless grey; the concrete towers and rivers of black tar that decimated nature many years before Lucas was even born. He has never known solitude like this, and he cannot even begin to explain any of this to Marian. It is like he is from another planet, as well as another century.

But, he decides to try anyway. "Where I live," he begins, "I mean, where I come from, we don't have this, and we've not had this for a long time. Everything is concrete and tar. Metal and brick."

Marian turns over, and propped up on her elbows, she looks down at him with a frown darkening her expression. "You must have sunsets, though?" she asks, "the sun cannot be gone."

Lucas laughs. "Oh no, I don't mean that. Of course we have the sun. We just don't have forests any more. Well, we think we do, but not on this scale. It's all been cut down, and replaced - when we realised what we had destroyed - with managed plantations. The trees are in neat rows, not all higgledy-piggledy, like this place. Everything is managed, where I come from. Nothing is natural."

Marian swallows, and looks away for a moment. "Do you mean that even all this," she gestures all around her with one hand, "is gone? There is no Sherwood?"

"No, we have some of Sherwood left, but not much," he answers truthfully, "we preserved a few miles of Sherwood because of the legends-"

He cuts himself off, realising that he's already said too much. But it's too little, too late. Marian heard him.

"What legends?" she asks, curiously.

Lucas blushes deeply, surprised at how uncomfortable he feels. "Robin Hood, of course," he answers rather shyly. "And you. And the merry men."

Marian bursts out laughing. "What did you call Robin's Gang?" she splutters between snorts of laughter. "The Merry Men?"

Lucas composes himself, trying to keep it sensible. "Yes," he replies, "and you're Maid Marian. You're Robin's girlfriend. We all heard the stories as children: about how you steal from the rich to give to the poor. And how Robin defeats the evil Sheriff who's been bringing the poor folk to their knees through his taxes, and he rescues you from his clutches, and you live together in the forest; fighting corruption and evil together, happily ever after."

An inexplicable sadness fills him as he talks, the smiles dying on both their faces as she senses the dramatic change in his mood. "There was a time when I thought that I was fighting evil and corruption, too," he added, his voice low. "But I was wrong. I was wrong about a lot of things, and I never did get the girl." He turns his face away from her, looking through the trees, now.

"What were you?" she asks, quietly.

"I was a spy," he answers, and he can hear her utter a soft cry. Hastily, he adds: "I did it for Queen and Country. To protect England from terrorists and criminals from overseas."

Of course, he knows she has no notion of what a terrorist is, and less still of what a twenty-first century terrorist is. But he needs to assure her that being an MI5 Spy isn't the same as the common treachery kind of spy. But when he looks back at Marian, he sees that she is smiling.

"That sounds like what I do," she says, "I spy up at the Castle for Robin and his Gang."

"You must be brave."

It is a statement, rather than a question.

"I can look after myself, really," she replies. "I can handle Guy of Gisborne."

She sits up properly, and now that it's darkening quickly, Lucas follows suit. There is nothing left to see. But the name 'Guy of Gisborne' is ringing his alarm bells, yet again. "Who is Guy of Gisborne?" asks Lucas. "He's not in the legends. Only the Sheriff."

Or was he? Lucas cannot truly remember and now he wishes he had paid more attention to his bedtime stories as a small boy.

"He is the Sheriff's Lieutenant; his right hand man, and my fiancée," Marian replies, as they both get up. "Or, he was my fiancée. I left him at the altar, I just couldn't go through with it. Not with how I feel about Robin Hood."

The scene plays out again in Lucas' mind: Marian in white, blurting out her love for Robin Hood, and then doubling up in pain and dying slowly as a sword plunges into her abdomen. At least this time it is because he wills the images back.

"Did he try to hurt you?" he asks. "Forgive my impertinence, Marian. It's just-" he breaks off. How can he explain the images he has seen? It sounds insane; it is insane.

But Marian looks at him and smiles her relaxed, beautiful smile. "It's all right, Lucas," she replies calmly. "You know, if Robin had not told me all about you before I came to find you, I would have sworn that you were Guy! Only your hair is different, and you seem a lot nicer and kinder than he. But yes, he did try to hurt me. He burned down the house I lived in with my father, the old Sheriff of Nottingham. Since then I have been forced to live in the Castle, and that's when I began to Spy. Like you."

Lucas is aghast. "Are there not laws to protect you?"

Marian shrugs again. "The King is in the Holy Lands fighting Crusades. While he is gone, there is only the rule of law as delegated to the County Sheriffs. And ours is Vaisey, with Guy helping him."

He runs through a list of dates in his head, and now wishes he had also paid attention to his History lessons. But he knows that Magna Carta was signed in 1215. With a sinking heart, he realises that the society he finds himself in now hasn't even got that far.

"In roughly eighteen years," he states, "things will begin to change for England. You'll get a bill of rights, and men like this Sheriff and this, er, Guy, will be held accountable for their actions."

He feels like he's spoiling the end of a good book for her, and resolves to give nothing else away.

"I hope so," she replies with a sigh. "Once, I fought with Guy and he stabbed me."

Lucas crashes to a halt again. "He did?" His heart beat hammers as he waits for her to reply.

"Yes, but he didn't know it was me. I was disguised as the Night Watchman. It's what I do when I help the poor. I put on a disguise and ride out at night, leaving food for the poor and the sick. I would do more if I could. Guy has no idea, he would kill me for sure if he knew."

Lucas doesn't know how he should feel about this. Clearly, this is not the same stabbing as the one in his vision. But he knows, now, that it's him – Guy of Gisborne. There is some link there, and he doesn't know what it is. He cannot explain it. Guy loves Marian; Marian loves Robin. Marian must have told Guy, then Guy stabbed her. Now, Lucas relives it time and again through his dreams, and he is inhabiting Guy's body.

"Lucas, are you all right? You're pale again."

He gives himself a mental shakedown and pulls himself together. "Yes," he distractedly replies. "Yes, I am fine. Just tired."

Marian hesitates, the frown deepens. "Come on, I'm taking you straight home."

Home. It had become a rather abstract notion for Lucas, even before he arrived in Sherwood. England had been his home, a Russian prison cell had been his home, countless buildings, flats and safe-houses had all been his home. His was a life squandered in transit, never settling for long, always flitting between one identity and the next. It was almost ironic that the this forest, where there wasn't a house in sight, was the place he'd felt, strangely, the most at 'home'.

* * *

"We were about to send out a search party for you two!"

Robin casually leaps down from the felled tree he was lounging in, walking towards them with a smile on his face. He looks at them both, and sweeps Marian into a warm embrace. To Lucas' surprise, she pushes him away.

"Lucas nearly froze out there, today," she admonishes.

Robin's eyes widen in surprise. "How's that my fault?"

"He is new here, he doesn't know what is what and he got in that river without lighting the fire," she stormed.

They were both talking as though he wasn't there. Something that annoys him no end, under most other circumstances. Still unsure of his place among the Outlaws, however, he makes only the most unobtrusive of intrusions in to the rapidly heating discussion.

"Er, well, it's quite all right," he tries to interject, but Marian is still talking over him. "I mean, there's no harm done is there?"

Robin gestures towards him. "He said it himself, he's fine!" he pointed out. He turns to Lucas with a knowing look. "Women, eh? They worry if there's nothing to worry about."

Some things, Lucas observes, have not changed. He returns Robin's smile as he takes a seat by the fire, a small distance away from the others. He can see that Will and Djaq are deep in conversation together; Much is fretting around his kitchen area, and Little John is asleep under the boughs of an old oak tree. While Marian and Robin bicker, he looses himself in his thoughts.

Each person in the group has his or her own role to play, and Lucas is a spare part. He cannot hunt like these people, he cannot track or shoot a longbow. But like Marian, he can spy, and he's good at it. He gazes into the flames of the camp fire as he tries to work out the details in his head. He knows he could get into the castle, given the right disguise he could stay there for days on end and no one would ever notice him. He had a talent for melting away into the background.

An hour passes. Marian bids him farewell with a peck on the cheek and the promise of a return to their camp the next day. Robin joins him by the fire. "You've been quiet, Lucas," he says.

"I've been thinking."

A pause, and then: "Can I ask about what?"

Lucas gathers his thoughts.

"I want to help you, and I think I know how I can."


	5. Mission Improbable

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Thanks again for reading, and reviews would be very welcome.

**Chapter Five: Mission Improbable.**

* * *

Dawn penetrates the forest in thin, pale shafts of light slanting through the gaps in the trees. A gradual lessening of the darkness, rather than a full break of day sunrise. Lucas watches the birth of the new day from the mouth of his cave after another sleepless night. Long, nebulous hours spent deep in his own swirling thoughts and memories, reliving the feelings, over and over again. But as the darkness dissipates, it takes his doubts with it and he knows what he knew all along, that he is going to make himself very useful, after all.

Slowly, the camp stirs into life. Much is the first to rise, straight after the sunrise. They exchange pleasantries as he goes off into the woods to catch breakfast, and Lucas is grateful for his loss of appetite. After Much has vanished into the woods, Djaq is about, peering tentatively outside as if checking that the coast is clear. Hot on her heels is Will. Lucas watches with a smile as they follow each other behind a tree, and throw their arms around each other's necks, lean into one another for a lingering kiss. A stolen moment between two lovers before the day lays waste to any romantic plans they could ever make. They return to the fold ten minutes later, exchange a greeting with him and acting normal. He cannot think why they're being so secretive about it.

Slowly, life swings fully into motion as the rest emerge in time for Much's return with breakfast – rabbits and wild fowl. He remains in his cave, watching like a nosey neighbour – a tenuous part of the action, but not yet fully incorporated into the fold. He's on the outside, looking in, but feeling content with his lot all the same.

"Lucas!"

Robin calls his name from across the clearing as he jumps down from a small rock face in the woods. He lands deftly, smoother than a cat, before the opening of Lucas' cave. Much like the Spooks, Robin is a master at appearing and melting away, but the forest is his habitat where Lucas' was the urban towns and cities.

"Hey," he calls back, retreating into his cave, making way for Robin to follow him. "I did what you asked, and thought about it."

"And?" asks Robin, raising an eyebrow.

Lucas is adamant. "I want to do it; I want to help you," he replies. "Let me infiltrate the Castle and see if there's anything I can find out, and I'll report back every day."

Robin fixes him with a shrewd look, carefully mulling over Lucas' proposal. He can tell that much. He expects him to protest further, or mention some hitherto hidden obstacle. But instead, the other man's expression brightens in a wide grin.

"Excellent idea, Lucas," he says, landing a friendly slap on his upper arm. But then his mood turns serious again. "I just wanted you to be certain, to know if this is what you really want to do-"

"It is," Lucas cuts over him, jumping to his feet as if he's ready to go immediately. "Just help me get in there, and I can bring you the proof you need to bring down the Sheriff. Just get everyone in here, and I'll show you what I can do."

Robin gives him a nod before disappearing outside to call in the others. While everyone gathers, Lucas returns to his neat pile of belongings stored on a natural ledge in the rock wall of his new home. He takes out his mobile phone, sends up a silent prayer that it is still at relatively full power, and presses the on button down. It chimes into life, and he quickly checks the power and switches it to camera mode. As everyone files in, he films them, relieved that he still has a day or so worth of power left in the battery.

"What's that little red dot?" asks Robin, peering intently at the device, leaning in close to the lens and unwittingly blocking the view finder.

"I'll show you in a minute," replies Lucas, "stand back."

He makes sure they are all captured on film, and only stops once Djaq, Will, John and Much are all seated around the entrance to the cave. He then accesses the file he just filmed, and holds the phone in the palm of his hand, where they can all see it clearly.

"This," he states, holding out the phone, "is a camera. Watch."

He plays back the footage of them all walking into the cave. A gasp from Djaq, a cry of alarm from Much; mesmerised silence from the others. They all watch awestruck as their miniature, celluloid selves re-enter the cave in the device. Robin snorts with amazed laughter as his miniature self leans into the lens: "What's that little red dot?" his recorded voice repeats. "I'll show you in a minute," replies Lucas' disembodied voice, from behind the camera. The screen goes blank as the play back ends and Lucas quickly taps the 'off' button to conserve its precious energy.

"Incredible," states Robin, still wide-eyed from surprise. Blushing at having seen himself on camera for the first time. "My voice sounded, er, different though!"

"That is amazing!" states John, wide-eyed under his mane of shaggy hair. "That, I do like!"

"Wow!" Djaq is still mesmerised by the now blank screen.

"How does it work?" Will asks, stepping closer and peering intently at it, as though there were miniature versions of themselves all living inside it.

Lucas grins at the effect it's had on his new colleagues, relishing the rush of having finally proved some of his worth to them. "It records everything precisely as it happens," he explains to them once they've settled again. "It's called a camera phone, and it never lies. It captures sound and movement exactly as it happens, and the file will last indefinitely unless it gets manually deleted, or the power runs down."

Lucas turns to Robin. "You said there was an organisation operating in Nottingham called the Black Knights?"

"They operate all over England," Robin explains, correcting him gently. "But the Sheriff is forever hosting meetings at the Castle."

"Then let me go to the Castle, leave this in the room: somewhere with a good view of the whole place, and you'll have all the evidence you need to bring down this Sheriff; his henchmen and anyone else who's been plotting against the King."

They're all smiles as the comprehension dawns on all their faces; the enormity of the opportunities becoming clear.

"This. Is. Brilliant," Robin annunciates every word, chewing thoughtfully on a fingernail as he goes, pacing and thoughts whirring. "Just leave it in there on its own, no one need risk their lives by listening in. It's perfect!"

Will stands up, next. "The evidence lasts forever?"

"Only while I have power. It will last another day, or two days at most," replies Lucas. "I need to leave it powered off to conserve energy as best I can. But if power runs down, I can transfer the media file onto that laptop and it will last another hour on there."

An hour's no good to them. In the absence of high speed transport, even a few days is not much use. But it will be enough to disseminate the information they get. It will still be irrefutable proof to the people that they need to rise against the Sheriff.

"As long as we can get the camera back soon after the meeting ends, it should be enough," says Djaq. "Then we only switch it on whenever we need to show someone. If we switch it off until we reach the King-"

"How long will it take to get to Acre?" asks Lucas, not meaning to cut her off, but the thought had just occurred to him.

"About six months."

"Even switched off the power will not last that long. But we can show it to other authorities nearby and get their support for your cause," Lucas explains.

"It's still invaluable," Robin states. "We have to take the chance, it's too good to pass up. Lucas, are you sure you're willing and ready?"

Lucas grins. "Of course I am."

No other feature of his phone worked. There was no signal to make calls, there was no way to get online because there was no reception, and he highly doubted that Nottingham Castle was wi-fi enabled. But the basics still functioned: it powered on and off, the cameras and icons still worked and still recorded. It was all he needed. To be safe, he reached for his MP3, it too had a recording function, and with less features to run, its power lasted longer than the phone's. He stashes it with his phone in his jacket pocket, and returns to the meeting, where Djaq had raised the issue of getting Lucas safely into the Castle.

"Can't Marian get me in?" he asks, looking round at them all.

Robin gives a shrug. "Problem solved. Marian's allowed to bring someone in with her. She can just say he's there to help with her horses, or whatever. Anything."

The problem solved, the meeting winds down as they descend into chatter and gossip from the nearby villages. It is life in microcosm, a snap-shot of a long forgotten Medieval world, a world where honour still means something, and the people fight for more than just money. It's more than just wistfulness, he knows that. It's almost like the elusive higher purpose he spent his whole former life looking for.

* * *

But some things cannot be escaped. Some ghosts refuse to be exorcised. The film reel in his head begins again: the water seeps rapidly through the towel over his face, getting worse as he struggles against his restraints; he is drowning again. The scene dissolves into a bare cell illuminated by the flickering bulb as he climbs the walls. An overwhelming despair steals over him; abandoned and forgotten in a cold, barren, Russian hell. "Why haven't they found his body yet?" Ruth's voice resonates from nowhere as the images fade, reforming into the hot desert sands where Marian is impaled on his sword. Russia is forgotten, but his despair intensifies and converges with horror. It's not Marian he hates, it's himself. "Gisborne!" He drops Marian, turns to see a squat man swathed in black on a horse, he drowns in fear as the man glares at him. "He jumped, I know he did," says Harry Pearce's disembodied voice, as if in response to Ruth's. He tries to stay with Ruth's voice, but something is pulling him through the darkness, an unstoppable force that drags him upwards as a female voice trills his name.

"Lucas!" she sing-songs. "Wakey-wakey!"

"Ruth!" he gasps into the semi-darkness, jolted suddenly awake.

Gasping like a landed fish he looks about him wildly, rapidly gathering his senses. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, and his nightmares had stolen up on him out of nowhere. Needless to say, there was no sign of Ruth anywhere. Just Marian, frowning in concern as she eases him back down on to his bed. "It's only me," she whispers softly, "don't be afraid any more."

"I'm sorry," he pants between breaths. "I'm so sorry..."

Marian shakes her head. "For what?" she asks, but without waiting for a reply, she adds: "You have nothing to apologise for, Lucas. You were just having bad dreams. It's all right now."

Marian leans down, and wraps her arms around his bare shoulders, cradling him closely. For a minute, he is content to let her. He rests his head under her chin, listening to reassuring beat of her heart against his ear. So alive; so full of life. She rubs his back in small circles for a second before releasing him.

"There," she beams at him at arms length, "is that better now?"

He grins, it's worth it if he gets a free hug off a beautiful woman for his sufferings. "Better," he confirms.

As she drops her arms. Djaq enters the cave. In her hands, she holds a corked bottle, he can see it glimmering dully in the light of the fire close to the entrance. She drops to her knees at Lucas' bedside, beside Marian.

"Here, I made this for you when you go to the Castle," she explains, handing him the bottle. "It's just more of that sleeping draught."

"Thank you."

He takes it gratefully, but he knows already that he will not use it. Before, his flashbacks were nothing more than the stored up horrors his conscious mind could not acknowledge, was not strong enough to face. Here, they have taken on a new meaning and he knows he has got to let them in. Whatever direction they are pointing him, he knows it is a key to something, he just doesn't know what.

When he comes round from his private thoughts, Djaq and Marian are still there, both now looking at him wide-eyed with concern. It is Marian who speaks.

"Are you certain about this, Lucas?" she asks. "It's very dangerous."

"If you want to wait until you know everything better, we will not think less of you," adds Djaq.

But he's never been more certain of anything. "I am ready," he insists. "I need to do this; I need to help."

They don't understand, though. He can see the uncertainty in their eyes, the mutual understanding passing between the two well-meaning women. They, like his colleagues on the Grid, think he's too delicate, that he'll shatter as though he is made of glass. Marian places her hand on his arm, leans in closer to speak, but it is Robin who cuts her off.

"You heard him," he says, leaning casually against the aperture that forms the entrance to his cave, "he's ready. For what it's worth, I think you'll be brilliant, Lucas. That, er, thing you've got will prove once and for all what I've been saying for years."

Lucas smiled, warmed by Robin's vote of confidence. "I won't let you down, I promise."

He's already getting up and pulling his jeans on when Marian and Djaq round on Robin. "I think we should put his health first, before your grudge with the Sheriff..."

Robin at least tries to lower his when talking about Lucas. "Marian will keep an eye on him, won't you?"

"Of course!"

"There you go, problem solved."

Lucas bites down on his irritation, and lets the excitement of a new operation surge through him as he ties the laces of his trainers. He grabs his bag and double checks his kit. Phone, MP3 player, handgun and his laptop – the same one with the Albany file. He knows he cannot leave that lying around anywhere. And while the others have been talking about him, he has even thought of a compromise to allay Djaq's fears.

"Look," he says, turning around to face them, "I'll report back here every day during the Op. It sounds easy enough to get in and out of the Castle, I'll just follow Marian."

Robin grins at the two women, endearingly cocky. "Now stop worrying!"

Marian turns to Lucas, addressing him directly. "Only if you are truly ready."

Lucas nods. "I am truly ready, and I have everything I need."

However, Robin raises a hand. "Not quite everything," he corrects.

Lucas suppresses a sigh of impatience at this last minute obstruction. He's about to object when Robin reaches into his back pocket and pulls out what looks like a Military dog tag, except it is made from leather. It hangs from his two middle fingers, and holds it up to Lucas.

"You need this," Robin tells him, grin firmly in place. "All my gang have them, and you're definitely one of us now."

Lucas takes the tag, sees the insignia of the Outlaws embossed in black on the leather, and wells with gratitude. It's like being brought inside after a lifetime spent in the cold. He cannot express his gratitude with words, before he knows what he's doing, he and Robin are clutching each other in a bear hug.

"Welcome aboard!" Robin says, patting him firmly on the back before letting go. "Just remember to keep out of the Sheriff's sight."

Robin and Djaq escort him outside where Little John, Will Scarlett and Much are waiting to wish him well before he leaves with Marian, who's already heading towards the edge of their forest clearing. He thanks Will for his dog tag, guessing correctly that it was the camp's resident craftsman was responsible for making them. Then, it is time to leave,

Lucas joins Marian at the edge of the clearing, where the forest gives way to the beaten earth dirt track that leads to Locksley village, and them to Nottingham Castle itself. Side by side they stand for a moment, looking back at the others. He only just realises he's going to miss them, even if he will be back in a day or so. These were colleagues and friends. They were okay.

He looks back at Marian. "Well, I'm ready," he says. "Are you?"

Marian looks at him and smiles. "I'm always ready."


	6. Strange New World

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot to me. I'm so sorry for the delay in getting this updated (the same applies to all my fics), I fell ill not long after the last update. However, I'm back on track now, so thank you for bearing with me.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Strange New World**

Just a few steps is all it takes for the camp to vanish; swallowed by the trees and foliage, drowning out the sounds of Outlaw's voices. If it wasn't for Marian leading the way, Lucas would find himself lost in the darkening wilderness. To him, all trees look the same, all paths lead into thicker darkness. However, Marian has trod these tracks since the moment she could stand on her own two feet. She moves through the darkening forest, lithe and elegant like a fish through water; as much a part of the woodlands as the trees themselves. It is all part of her, and she a part of it. Lucas, on the other hand, trips over roots and brambles and it makes the colour steal into his cheeks when he compares his clumsy baby steps to Marian.

Sensing Lucas lagging behind her, Marian pauses, casting a glance back over her shoulder. She is too sweet natured to be impatient with him, but seeing her smile in the pale moonlight makes him feel even more of an encumbrance.

"It's all right, Lucas, take your time," she says, picking up on his difficulties. "It's one thing to walk the forest by day, but at night it is dangerous. Only those who know this place well can do it and your world sounds so different."

Living and operating in twenty-first century London, the closest thing Lucas had ever come to 'wilderness' was the carefully cultivated parklands of Hampstead Heath or Clapham Common. With each and every new situation throwing up new problems that he could never have imagined, Lucas begins to doubt his readiness already, barely ten minutes after leaving the camp.

"I'm sorry," he replies timidly, "you must think me a real townie."

She holds out her hand. "Take it, I will guide you."

He does so, albeit rather self-consciously. From what he has seen of Marian, she has a heart of gold and he cannot help but dwell again on the end he has seen for her. He cannot imagine killing her himself, but he knows too that none of his flashbacks are dreamscapes plucked out of thin air: from the prison cell to Harry, they are all real, they all happened. He has no reason to doubt the authenticity of Marian's death scenes; he just cannot imagine anyone wanting to kill her.

Within a few minutes, Lucas has finally managed to get his feet by following Marian's steps closely. His eyes adjust to the thin beams of moonlight that now slant between the overhead branches, and he can pick out the path at least a few feet in front of them, now. With a little more confidence in his step, they make better progress over the uneven ground and Marian falls into idle chatter.

"I try to imagine your world; thinking of all the differences you told me about," she said, still leading him with her arm linked through his. "It must be hard for you here, away from everything and everyone you love."

One thing that Lucas has found since arriving in his strange new world, is that he can view his old life almost like a spectator. It is as though the centuries have formed a transparent barrier through which he can view it all again with a cool indifference. "There was no one," he informed her dispassionately, and left it at that.

However, Marian's curiosity is aroused. "Forgive me if I pry, but was Maya not your betrothed?"

The mention of Maya's name brings it all back to him: those last, desperate days of his former life. It's as if his heart has been plunged in freezing waters; memories creep like poison over his mind. Albany, Vaughn, running from Harry and his old team and choking on the acrid smoke of from the burning bridges. He stops in his tracks, making Marian stop also.

"How did you know about Maya?" he asks, knowing she is the one person he physically could not talk about.

He can see her eyes shining in the moonlight, wide with the realisation that she has said too much. She lowers her gaze when she sees him looking, suddenly embarrassed. "You cry for her every night," she confesses. "Robin and the others wondered if that was why, you know, you wanted to …" her words break off and melt into a tense silence.

He could feel himself reddening with shame. It was bad enough that he'd been crying out in his sleep, but worse that everyone had heard it, and made a conscious decision to say nothing, to act like everything was normal. He honestly doesn't know what's worse? He turns from Marian, extricating his arm from hers. But there's no point pretending it hasn't happened, now. "Maya is dead," he admits to Marian in an undertone. It's the first time he's spoken about it since he arrived, and the knowledge of it hits him all over again. But he keeps his emotions in check, freezes his grief beneath the veneer of calm. Only when a pair of slender arms reach from the darkness and wrap themselves around his shoulders does he wobble and find himself biting back the tears again.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Lucas," she whispered, standing on tip-toe to try and be even with him. She is sincere, too. After a lifetime of lies he spots the occasional ray of sincerity when he sees it.

He returns her hug, but only briefly. "Come on, enough soul bearing," he says, picking up the pace and turning his mind to the job again, "we have a castle to infiltrate."

* * *

The village of Locksley is shut up for the night by the time they get there. Low, squat wattle and daub dwellings stand stark and solid against the night sky, thin points of light illuminate the windows. Only the tallow fat candles of the poor folk. They don't even have proper fires. However, the winding path through the silent village itself is lit with the occasional beacon, lighting the path to Nottingham Castle itself. The fortress sprawled across the top of a steep incline that overlooked not just Locksley, but the other outlying villages, too. It made for a foreboding, looming presence that overlooked the sleeping inhabitants.

As they walked on, Lucas begins to see the irregular forms of underfed cattle cropping the grass of the nearby common. Horses brayed in their stalls and dogs sniffed at the undergrowth, picking up the scent of nothing in particular. It was like a ghost town. Silent and abandoned. The closer they get to the closer, the more uneasy Lucas feels.

Marian pauses before they reach the drawbridge, calls out to someone concealed in a watch tower to raise the portcullis to her. Her command is obeyed immediately, and the old chains grind and clank their way to admitting them.

"Pass through quickly," she advises him, "they won't look too closely, anyway. But just to be safe pull the hood of your coat up."

"Okay," he replies, doing as she bid. "But I'll need more than this once I'm in there, surely?"

"Don't worry I'll keep you out of sight," she assured him.

Moments later, and they have passed into the grounds of the Castle. Inside, the forecourt is deserted. Only a solitary guard paces through the cloisters, a halberd resting lazily against one shoulder as he steps back and forth. Lucas turns from him and looks up at the blank eyed, lead paned windows. Not even a candle shines out of those, only the reflected moonlight meets his gaze. It is eerie in its silence. Even more so than the village. The contrast between here and the Outlaw's camp could not be starker. The atmosphere is subdued and heavy, the silence like a suffocating shroud.

Lucas shivers as he takes it all in, feeling highly conscious of his unusual dress and conspicuous manner. Marian, however, has already taken that matter in hand. She ducks into the nearby stables, reappearing two minutes later with a large, shapeless mass of material in her arms.

"Put this on," she instructs, "just until we get safely inside the Castle. It's got the Sheriff's insignia and livery colours on it. You'll be mistaken for either a servant, or Guy of Gisborne. Either way, they'll be too scared to challenge you."

Lucas would rather not be seen at all, but if fear is what it takes to get the mission successfully carried out, then so be it. "Thanks," he replies, as he struggles his way inside the huge tunic she has just handed to him. The last time he did something like this, he was impersonating a Russian millionaire. All that seemed a million miles away, now. It was back to basics.

Getting inside the Castle was even easier than he suspected it would be. There were no codes to break, no alarms to disable or even concealed traps. Just a guard or two to dodge round, a feat achieved by Marian simply pushing him into a convenient alcove or suppressed window whenever she heard the tramp of boots echoing down the passages. It was far too late for the most of the Castle's inhabitants to be out and about, even the servants having mostly called it a night. Had this been an operation in his own world, Lucas would be suspicious of how easy it had been to gain access to the fortress. So, he decides to press his advantage.

"Can you take me to the place where these meetings are held?" he asks her, careful to keep his voice low despite the deserted corridors.

"Of course," she replies, taking him by the elbow and carrying on the way they were going.

He has pulled his hood down low, and cannot see well. His view of the flagstones at his feet is unimpeded, and only a little to the left and right is clear. He cannot make out the passages and galleries she is leading him down. But they arrive quickly at a great oak door, fortified with iron bars to protect it from invaders.

"Bound to be locked," he observes dejectedly.

Marian flashes a knowing smile as he slips a pin from her hair. "Not for much longer," she states, eyes twinkling. Then, seeing the look in his eye as he lowers his hood, she adds: "Robin taught me this."

She bends the pin, and inserts it into the keyhole. Just a swift sleight of hand and the old lock jolts back with ease. The doors swings open with what seems to him a deafening creak, to reveal a large, mostly empty chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. Long, thin shafts of bright moonlight puncture the night air, revealing grey flagstones on the floor; threadbare tapestries hanging from the stone walls, and a table set in the middle of the room bearing a large map of England. Lucas looks closely at the map. It's been drawn by someone who has clearly never had an aerial view of the English coast before, but it is still recognisably England. Just more bulbous than he has seen, and he cannot help but marvel at the accuracy of it, all the same. Especially given these people's lack of satellite imaging.

Behind him, Marian closes the door with a soft click, shutting them in and enabling Lucas to get on with the job at hand. It becomes clear immediately. Overhead, in the centre of the ceiling, an enormous candelabrum hangs low, towed up and secured with ropes. There are already fresh candles in each of the holders. All he would have to do is secure his camera phone in the centre of that, and he would have a bird's eye view of the entire room.

"How does that work?" he asks Marian, "how do they light it?"

Marian glances up to where Lucas points. "They reach up with long poles and light the candles from up there," she explains, reaching for one of the "arms" behind the door. "They only lower it to change the candles."

"If the meeting happens in the middle of the day, will they still light the candles?"

"Yes, it's always gloomy in here."

Lucas bites back the curse on his tongue. The glare from the candles may affect his camera, and the idea is instantly rejected. He takes out the camera, and presses it into Marian's hand. "Can you think of anywhere, in this room, where I can hide this," he states. He turns it over, and points to the tiny lens. "Only that bit there needs to be unobstructed to get the best view. Above head height, too."

Marian takes it, studying it closely. "If only that one tiny piece needs to be uncovered, then perhaps we could …." Her voice trails off as she looks about the room, her eye falling on one of the old tapestries, and then starts thinking aloud. "We could work a stone loose behind that –" she points to the tapestry, or rather the wall behind it –"cover it with the tapestry, then work a hole in it. Will that do it?"

Lucas grins. "Perfect."

But the walls look disappointingly solid; made, as they are, to withstand a siege. They both get behind the deceptively heavy tapesty, and run their hands over the rough, dusty surface of the stone walls until, finally, Lucas finds what they're looking for. Finally, there is a sign of wear and tear in the room, and a brick can be worked loose from the wall. From that angle, they would miss the back of the chamber, but most importantly they had the entrance. They would film who came and went. They would still have sound. Once the brick is replaced with the phone, they rearrange the tapestry, as it was when they found it and Marian uses her hairpin to pick a hole in the fabric, making sure that the lens has a view of the room. Even the small red light is covered, thanks to the tapestry. Not perfect, but passable all the same.

They stand side by side, looking at the spot where the camera is concealed. "Do you see it?" he asks.

Marian tilts her head to one side, then the other. "Nope."

"Excellent."

"So, what now? It isn't doing anything now, is it?"

"Not yet. Wait for the next meeting to be announced, and then we'll come back in here right before it starts and switch it on. All I need is one minute to act, and then get out again," Lucas explains. "Let's just hope the meeting won't go on for hours."

Marian gives him an encouraging nod from the shadows she has already stepped into. He turns to follow her from the chamber, giving the room one last appraising look. But, as they reach the door, a voice booms out from the other side of the door.

"Do I care if Gisborne's bloody well asleep? A clue: no!"

Marian freezes and grabs hold of Lucas' arm to stop him. "It's the Sheriff," she hisses under her breath, "and he's sending for Guy."

He can feel her trembling. "Shit!" he hisses back.

Without missing a beat, however, she guides him back into the room, towards the back where Lucas could not see properly before.

"Get in here," she instructs, pushing him into what looks like a storage cupboard. "Please God, don't let them be coming in here," she adds, more as a prayer than a statement to Lucas.

She shuts them both in, and seems to be holding her breath. However, Lucas has been in situations like this more times than he can remember. Despite his kicking nerves, he takes slow, deep breaths to still his racing heart. Giving Marian's hand a reassuring squeeze, he pulls her close to him, knowing the contact will help make her feel more protected. "Don't worry," he whispers low in her ear. "We might find something out."

However, as the door is kicked forcefully open and heavy footsteps can be heard pounding over the flagstones, Lucas feels the reassuring weight of his gun in his jeans. As another, more distant voice, answers the Sheriff's, Lucas leans close to the key hole of their cupboard. Marian eases herself slowly to the floor, mindful of making no noise. It is so dark, they cannot see each other, but through the small hole in the door, they can just make out a fragment of the Sheriff. If anything, Lucas only regrets not setting the camera up immediately. He presses his eye to the keyhole again, and looks out at that small, squat little man. Bald and angry. Ill shaven and pacing impatiently. He catches his breath as he recognises him from one of his flashbacks. He was only there once, but he is with him at Marian's death.

Lucas pushes that to the back to his mind, however, when another man finally appears. Dressed in black, just like the last time Lucas saw him, he doesn't seem in the least bit phased. However, he is nervous, tentative and keen to get away again. Lucas can tell; can read him like an open book. He lowers himself down to where Marian is, and prepares to commit what's about to happen to memory.


	7. Space and Time

**Author's Note**: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Please read and review, thank you.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Space and Time**

"Have you been moonlighting as an outlaw, Guy?" The Sheriff's voice is almost playful, teasing Guy for some unknown reason. Lucas, hidden with Marian in the storage cupboard, keeps his ear pressed to the door, listening intently as a swirl of inexplicable emotions well up inside him. He hears a sigh coming from the chamber on the opposite side of the door.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, my lord," replies the other man.

A pause.

"Come, come, Gisborne!" retorts the Sheriff. "Don't be coy. If you've been playing Outlaws in your free time, you know you can tell me."

Lucas risks adjusting his position inside the cramped cupboard so he can see through the keyhole. The Sheriff is a squat little man, whose dark eyes glitter with malice in the slanting moonlight. His smile is crooked, just revealing a gap where one of his canine teeth is missing. The sight of him sends a thrill of terror and excitement coursing through Lucas' whole body, like an electric shock.

The other man, Gisborne, steps closer to the Sheriff and into Lucas' limited line of vision. As with before, during the raid a few days past, the sight of the man is like a blow to the head. Lucas is repelled and intrigued in equal measure by Gisborne. He knows it's himself who's been spotted in the Outlaws camp and been mistaken for Gisborne, and he finds himself fighting the urge to burst out of the cupboard and reveal himself, clearing up the confusion. He cannot explain it, but the urge to dig his double out of the shit he's in through no fault of his own is almost overwhelming.

"Someone is impersonating me," said Gisborne, low and dangerous. "I intend to find out who, and when I do, I will make them rue the day they were ever born."

Beside him, Marian shudders involuntarily. Lucas moves one arm and places it around her shoulders for comfort. She responds by leaning into him, slowly and deliberately as to make no noise at all.

"See that you do, Gisborne," replied the Sheriff, all humour – whether feigned or otherwise – is gone now. "See that you do, otherwise, I might just think you're double crossing me and making new friends among the Outlaws. Then you will be the one regretting you were ever born."

There is a moment of silence in which the two men stare each other down, before the Sheriff pushes past his right-hand man and strides purposefully from the Chamber. But Guy remains. He slumps into one of the chairs at the head of the table; elbows braced against the top and buries his face in his hands. His frustration, anger and confusion wells up in Lucas, too. He feels the other man's fear, feels all the emotions he dares not show himself. Underneath it all, there is an undeniable surge of empathy.

Gisborne stops massaging his temples and his head jerks upwards as though something had jolted him. He looks directly at the cupboard where Lucas and Marian remain hidden. They both freeze, not even daring to breathe. Lucas draws back from the keyhole, but not so much that he can no longer see Guy. He cannot let the man out of his sight; he is compelled by some other, greater, force to keep on looking. Lucas watches as Guy's eyes narrow, fixing on the cupboard as though he has sensed their presence.

He rises to his feet, stepping closer to the cupboard but then stops. He gives his head a shake as though clearing a fog in his mind, and strides out after the Sheriff. Inside the cupboard, as Guy's footsteps fade away, both Lucas and Marian breathe a sigh of relief.

Lucas lets himself out first and then offers his hand to Marian, who he pulls up and out after him. She is shaking visibly, weak from having been cramped inside a cupboard for the last twenty minutes. Assured that they are alone and the threat of interruption has safely passed for the night, Lucas decides it's time for an impromptu debrief.

"So, that was them?" he asks as he pulls out two chairs. Without thinking, he sits in the same place recently vacated by Guy.

Marian nods. "That was them, all right," she confirms. "Do you see what everyone means, now? Everyone thinks you're him."

"And I'm getting him into trouble."

"Guy can handle the Sheriff, don't worry about him," she assured him.

"That's what you all think," he countered, "he's terrified of the Sheriff, I can feel it."

His argument is met with silence. Having adjusted to the weak moonlight, he can see her looking at him with deep uncertainty. "What do you mean?" she asks, leaning back in her chair.

He realises that his comments made him sound insane. The truth is that he cannot fathom it himself. "I don't know," he admits. "I can just … I can feel it. What he feels; I can read it, or sense it rather…" his explanation trails off as he loses the thread of his own tumultuous thoughts. "I can't explain it. I can't explain the resemblance. I can't explain the dreams. I –"

"What dreams?" asks Marian, cutting over him.

Now is the time. Those around him now have already seen for themselves how peculiar this situation is. This is just one more revelation to compound that, so Lucas launches into an explanation, starting from the beginning.

"When I was back home – I mean in my time; the future," feelings of acute embarrassment, at the oddity of his new situation, make him falter. Marian, however, gives him an encouraging nod, so he continues. "I worked for an organisation called MI5 and it was our job to counter terrorism in England. There's a sister group called MI6 who deal with foreign terrorism. It's top secret, very dangerous and many of my colleagues have been killed during active service. But me? I was captured by a hostile nation while on an op, in Russia. I was held in a Russian prison for eight years and tortured for information…"

Again, he falters. His embarrassment has been replaced by the terror of his own past; the vividity of his own memories. A hand, small and soft, lands on his arm and Marian gives it a small squeeze. When he looks at her, he can see her wide, blue eyes glittering with tears in the moonlight. "I'm sorry, Lucas," she softly says. "If this is too painful for you, you are under no obligation to explain yourself to me."

Now that he had started, he does not want to stop. He wishes he had a proper drink, though. Vodka. Neat. No ice.

"It's all right," he replies before taking up where he left off. "I was tortured regularly and left in solitary confinement for eight years. But my boss at MI5, Harry Pearce, worked to get me back as part of a Prisoner exchange three years ago."

"So you were released from your Russian prison in return for a Russian prisoner in England?" she asked, seeking clarity.

Lucas nodded. "That's right," he confirmed. "I returned to work after being debriefed – that's where I am counselled to help me readjust and get all necessary information from me. But I kept having flashbacks. They come all the time, even now and here, in this time. I relive the memories in my head, as though I was back there going through it all, all over again."

"I have heard of men returning from the Crusades who experience similar things," said Marian, drawing her chair closer to him. "Please, don't ever feel ashamed in front of me, or Robin's gang. We know you must have been so strong to go through all that for eight years."

Lucas managed a wan smile. He had meant to be debriefing her, not the other way around. "Thank you," he said and meant it. "As I was saying, these flashbacks always involved Russia, the torture and the pain. All of it came flooding back to me. Then I met someone from the past, from long before I joined MI5, and I started to unravel. I tried to silence him; I tried to protect my old girlfriend, Maya. But he was too clever for us, too sly. I ended up betraying the service, my girlfriend was killed in a shoot-out, and I lost the will to carry on. While I was trying to save Maya, I began having my flashbacks again."

Another pause, catching his breath. It was like a floodgate had opened in his mind and now that he was talking openly for the first time, he found he couldn't stop himself. The more he released, the lighter he felt as the shedding of his own past loosened a knot in his chest. Something that Marian sensed, so she let him carry on at his own pace and in his own words.

"When I had the flashbacks, I saw other things," he said, faltering again now that he had reached a pivotal moment. "I saw you. You told me you were marrying Robin Hood and that you would rather die than marry me."

"Marry you?" asked Marian, confounded by the revelation. "If this was still in your old life, then we had never met."

"I know! But it wasn't me. I didn't know you, so it couldn't have been me. I was somebody else, I was feeling his emotions. It's crazy, I know. And I have no idea what happened, or how I got here."

Marian pauses, getting everything right in her head. "But I am not even marrying Robin Hood," she eventually said. "I would. I would marry him tomorrow if I could. Whatever you saw in your dreams and flashbacks, it must be in my future, too. Because right now, Guy wants me to marry him."

"That's what I mean," he replied. "I was Guy. I was him in the flashbacks. You were telling me, Guy, why you didn't want to marry me."

Silence falls between them while Lucas waits for Marian to take it all in. Her expression is blank, but slowly, the comprehension dawns, or a theory formulates.

"So, something had happened that made me snap and finally tell Guy where to go," she speculated aloud. "Where were we? What else can you tell me about what you see?"

"We were in a desert, or somewhere with a lot of sun and sand. It was hot. You're dressed in white, and happy," he stops as the memory washes over him again. He reaches out and takes her hand in his own, full of guilt and shame. "I run you through with my sword – and I've never held a sword before in my life, Marian. They're not used where I come from. But in this, I kill you with a sword when you tell me you're marrying Robin Hood."

For a moment, she doesn't react at all. She is remarkably calm for a young woman who's just had her own death foretold. But finally, she looks away and bites her lower lip in apprehension.

"They are probably just dreams-"

"But all my flashbacks are of real events," he points out. "None of them are figments of my imagination. Russia; the torture. None of it. Marian, I jumped from the top of an exceptionally tall building to end my own life. I ought to be dead, a stain on the pavements. But I'm here, and I'm here for a reason. I think I'm here to stop that man from killing you."

The breath hitched in her throat. "But why? I am not important," she said, her voice weak.

"You don't understand," he retorts. "Robin and you, you're legendary figures. Your story is passed down the generations, all the way into the twenty-first century and, no doubt, beyond. You belong together. This man cannot be allowed to kill you and destroy the legend."

Marian stifles a laugh. "I'd love to see you telling that to Guy of Gisborne," she jokes, but the tears are leaking down her cheeks, glistening on her skin. She sniffs and swipes her face with the back of her hand to dry her tears. "I cannot make sense of it all, but I know you're right about some things. You're here for a reason; Robin and I are destined to be together, and Guy could very well kill me if I reject him a second time."

Marian pauses again, her expression is distant. "Remember I told you that Guy stabbed me while I was disguised as the Night Watchman? Well, are you sure you didn't see that in your dreams?" She remembers the sand and sun of Lucas' flashbacks, but she wants to be sure anyway.

Lucas shakes his head. "It was a huge sword, not a dagger. The Sheriff was there, too. I see him only briefly. Then, the visions return to my old job. My colleagues are looking for my body. I don't think I ever hit the ground that day."

"You just fell through space and time."

He shrugs. "Space and lots of time," he repeats, distantly. There is a theory at the back of his mind. He has it ringed off with razor wire, like a no-man's land, in the darkest recess of his mind. But it's fighting to get out and Lucas finally gives it voice. "What if he and I are the same?" he asks, realising the umpteenth time of just how unnatural, irrational, his thoughts are.

"That's impossible," she replies. "You cannot co-exist-" she cuts herself off, pausing as she reconsiders what she is about to say. "You do not co-exist, though. You're from the future, Guy is definitely from here and now. You say you betrayed your country – and I find that so hard to believe of you – and that I think you want to atone yourself…"

Where her theorising breaks off, Lucas takes it up as they lead each other down the same path of speculation.

"I atone for what I did there, by atoning for what I did here, in someone else's life. Someone else's life that was, simultaneously, my life at the time." He cannot bring himself to say the word 'reincarnation', it screams against every scientific, logical bone in his body.

The silence between them swells as Marian looks into his eyes, searching him. She goes to speak several times, but the words don't seem to come so easily. "Here in England, these thoughts are heretical," she finally says, her voice weak and tremulous. "But I know of other cultures, in distant lands, where it is very much believed that we live again, other lives. Not necessarily in Heaven, but here on this earth. What you say would account for a lot of what is happening. For now, I think you need to rest. We will tell Robin when we report back to camp, but now you must sleep. I insist upon it."

With the entire Castle at rest, the journey to Marian's chambers is mercifully uneventful. The talk has left Lucas drained, emotionally and physically, he feels devoid of any feeling at all. Also, he feels a few stone lighter for having divested himself of so much emotional baggage. Once inside, he strips to his shirt in a small antechamber connected to her main chambers that are spacious and comfortable. A log fire blazes in the hearth, kept stoked and fuelled by maids who're a bell-pull away at all times. Marian procured a small pallet bed from one of her maids, and set him up in the ante-chamber. It wasn't long before he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

It is late the following day when he wakes up again. The sun is already high in the sky, past noon by his own reckoning. It had never been in Lucas' nature to sleep so late, but he cannot deny that he needed it. He took in the unfamiliar surroundings he has found himself in and the memories of last night's chat with Marian drop like stones into his consciousness. He had told her almost everything and still she treated him with kindness.

Rubbing the residue of sleep from his eyes, he rolls over and out of the pallet bed to find his clothes. There, on the floor, he finds a silver tray with fresh wheaten bread and a pot of honey on it. A small note on which his name is written in a feminine scrawl. He smiles at the hospitality, picking at the bread with one hand and getting himself dressed with the other. Before long, Marian is back. He hears the door opening and closing. Fearing a servant, he prepares to conceal himself, but the sound of her voice reassures him.

"Are you awake, Lucas?"

"Perfect timing," he answers from behind his curtain, the one that shrouds the antechamber from the rest of the room. "I'm dressed, come in."

"Excellent."

She shoves the curtain aside and sits beside him on the bed, handing over a note. "I found it in Guy's chambers," she explains. "It's the date of the next meeting of the Black Knights."

The paper is unusual. Vellum, the skin of a calf, rather than the paper he is used to; the handwriting looks like something from his school's History textbooks. Itallianate and looped intricately. He must squint to read it properly, a mission not helped by the centuries non-standardised spelling. The sad fact is, he cannot make it out at all.

She realises the difficulty he is having. "It is for tomorrow afternoon," she clarifies for him. "I did not think your employers had not taught you how to read. Don't be ashamed, most people here cannot read, either. Only the wealthy are taught."

Lucas laughs, a blush stealing into his face. "I was taught to read from the age of four!" he retorts, but not really offended. "Everyone, no matter who they are, gets a free education where I come from. From the age of four until they're eighteen. Then they have the choice of going to University after that."

Marian is impressed. "Everyone? You mean, even the girls?"

"Of course. Women are equal to men there. I had a woman as a boss, once. She died a heroes death, trying to save a man's life." He is talking about Ros. For one mad moment, he had thought that all of Section D would have come the same way as him, and that Ros, Jo, Adam and all the others who'd fallen would be there, waiting for give him a dressing down for what he had done. However, he is satisfied that he is alone here.

"It sounds amazing," she replied, "we cannot do anything here. Our fathers and brothers rule us. But I have no siblings and my father was the kindest man that ever lived. He would never have forced me to do anything. I know I have been lucky. My friends were all forced to marry where their father's saw advantage, with either money, lands or titles. Love never enters the equation for them."

"But it does for you, Marian," he replies. "And you love Robin Hood."

She gives a slow nod, as though her love were nothing but a distant dream in someone else's life. She still doesn't realise how close she is. Lucas raises a smile and taps at the note.

"Well, let's make sure it happens. We'll get you and Robin there, yet."

She looks at him with a clear expression, a smile lighting up her face. Lucas can see why Guy loves her so much: her beauty and kindness are equal partners in her nature. She reminds him, in some small way of Maya. So many parallels, so many coincidences. He takes a deep breath and thinks of Guy again. He wants to see the man again, to see where he lives and what his life involves. He just lacks a way to achieve his ends, but already ideas are forming in his head.


	8. Merrie Olde Englande

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it really means a lot. Usual disclaimers apply and, I own none of this. Reviews would be most welcome. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Merrie Olde Englande**

Lucas has a day to kill and Locksley Manor, the home of Guy of Gisborne, stands enticingly empty within the grounds of the Castle of Nottingham. He can see it from the window of Marian's chambers and it's practically calling his name. It is a folly; he knows that. He doesn't know Gisborne's routine or his habits; he doesn't know anything beyond their physical resemblance. If he goes letting himself into Gisborne's private space, he could be so easily caught. However, the demon on his shoulder is luring him in: surely, he reasons, a man like the Sheriff will keep his Lieutenant's nose to the grindstone all day? Guy won't be due home until long after sundown.

That final thought makes up his mind for him. He pulls on the tunic that Marion purloined for him the night before and pulls the hood down low. Combined with this is the beard he's inadvertently grown over the last few days. A thick growth of stubble that Guy of Gisborne, like Lucas' usual self, would never allow to sprout. It's enough to cover himself without drawing any unwanted attention.

After one last check, he lets himself out of Marian's chambers and finds himself in a network of dark, dank hallways and chambers that all open out on to each other. However, the Castle is strategically designed so that all the passageways lead directly to the main exit, out on to the forecourt. Once he has navigated his way outside, he finds himself landed in the beating heart of Nottingham.

Everything happens within the walls of the Castle, under the sinister watch of the foreboding walls. A town within a town. There is a market, stables, common land for livestock and all sorts of businesses: coopers, blacksmiths and iron mongers. All the while, armed soldiers patrol the streets, their halberds resting lazily over their shoulders as they amble by. All the same, the people clearly fear them. Their lively conversations drop several decibels as the men-at-arms pass; lone shoppers slink into the shadows like whipped bitches to avoid their eye. It is a town ruled by fear.

So much for merry old England, Lucas thinks to himself as he rounds a corner and comes to a halt outside a large, two storey, timber framed house. Chez Gisborne. The door is open to admit the servants and maids; for a moment, Lucas considers lowering his hood and simply walking inside pretending, openly, to be their master. It's accidentally worked on everyone else. However, he limits his recklessness and decides on a cover story with his disguise firmly in place.

All the usual stories spring to the forefront of his mind: electrician, hygiene inspector, and plumber. None are appropriate for the twelfth century. Behind him, however, the blacksmith hammers at his smithy, the clangour echoing out over the market. It's as good as anything, he thinks as he enters the house.

"Sir Guy called in at the Blacksmiths, earlier," he informs what looks like a Scullery maid, "wants me to check some of the fittings upstairs."

The woman squints up at him, trying to see under his hood but soon gives up trying. "If you say so, master," she finally replies, not sounding terribly bothered either way.

There is no hallway, so to speak. Certainly not the type that Lucas is used to in an ordinary dwelling. It is a vast chamber lit by candelabras hoisted up to the ceiling. There is a large, as yet unlit, hearth fire at one end of the Great Hall, with palette beds for the squires who're in Gisborne's employment. At the other end of the room is a dais with a great trestle table where the most important members of the household ate and held Court.

Aside from seeing how his ancient ancestor's lived, there is nothing of real interest to Lucas. This was the impersonal, public life of Sir Guy. Lucas is far more interested in the mystery man's private life. There is a wooden staircase leading up to a first floor, mezzanine style so even from there you can look down and see what is happening in the Great Hall. To Lucas, it seemed as good a place to start as any.

On the first floor, most of the rooms are locked. He needs Marian and her magic hairpin, something he himself sadly lacks. However, the adrenaline surges as he finds the master bedroom unlocked. By the looks of it, the maids have only just finished with the room. The hearth is clean swept, the four-poster, tester bed is freshly made and the windows have been thrown open to let in the clean air. The only place Lucas has ever seen rooms like this is in living Museums, in an age when Castles like Nottingham's are nothing more than tourist attractions. It's clear, however, that the function of a medieval bedroom is exactly that: for nothing more than sleeping in. There is nothing personal, no sign of any work being done there. He opens a closet door, only to find an impressive array of black clothing hanging on a rail. All the same design; all the same colour. Only a sword, still sheathed in its scabbard, is propped up against the back wall.

Lucas looks at it for a moment. It is easily five feet in length and clearly made for more than just tilting at windmills. The scabbard is intricately decorated and he is unable to resist lifting it out for closer inspection. It looks like gold leaf, with an ornate letter "G", for "Gisborne", presumably. Around it is a knotted design of interweaving vine stalks and lover's knots. All very chivalric. The weight of the weapon is astonishing and Lucas finds himself wondering how anyone could ride into battle wielding such a cumbersome thing.

Tempted further, he carries the sword over to the bed where he sits down and unsheathes it. The blade is sharpened, shining dully in the broad afternoon sunlight that streams in through the casement windows. Lucas tentatively runs a forefinger along the steel blade, reaching the middle when the images erupt in his mind, assaulting him with the force of an oncoming, high-speed train.

He has his back to the sun; can feel it burning through his heavy clothes. There is a man lying on the ground with an arrow in his back; another new detail that was not there before. Marian is there, too, jumping back from the point of his sword, stepping deftly across the desert sands. Her expression is clear, her tone uncharacteristically firm, she's not holding back any more: "I would sooner die than marry you," she says. "I'm going to marry Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood."

Those last three words resound through his mind, taunting him repeatedly; the insult that keeps on insulting. Anger and betrayal surge through him; spurring him on as he plunges the sword in his hand straight into her belly. Confusion clouds his mind and only slowly does he realise what he has done. He sees her doubled over the blade of the sword; feels her blood spilling over his hand and the expression of frozen horror on the face. Her face is a death mask, and he has done it. Stupefied, he drops the sword and turns to run as an unseen force smacks him in the face.

He reels back from the blow, pain coursing through his lower jaw, and sprawls across the ground. The desert sands have given way to a wooden floor on which his head knocks so violently he sees stars. Blinking through the pain and confusion, his vision clears and he can see himself leering down at him before another blow – a kick this time – lands in his belly, making him scrunch up into foetal position. The yelp of pain is two-fold. When Lucas looks up, he can see that his attacker is also doubled over in pain. He doesn't know what happened, but he is quick to take advantage. Ignoring the aching protests of his own body, he gets up and elbows the man as hard as he can in the face. He cries out in pain and in shock as the force of the blow not only hits his assailant, but hits him, too. All along the bridge of his nose a searing pain burns. He touches the area gingerly, a trickle of blood livid on his fingertips when he looks down at them again. He looks over at Guy of Gisborne, both stunned like rabbits in the headlights as they wonder the same thing: what on earth is happening to them.

The two men, feeling each other's pain, stand panting and heaving as they eye each other suspiciously like two caged lions trapped in an elevator. A range of expressions chase themselves across Gisborne's face; mostly anger which gives way to confusion and even fear. Eventually, he finds his tongue. "Who are you?" he demands, his voice a dangerously low rasp. He then frowns, a look of utter disgust on his face: "What are you?"

For a long time, Lucas cannot answer even though he is more prepared for seeing Guy than Guy is for seeing him. The man is quick witted, Lucas credits him with that much, at least.

"My name is John Bateman," he eventually says. "I am nothing."

Guy's frown deepens and he takes a step closer to Lucas. He is still stunned, though.

Lucas reaches for the sword, but it has been kicked under the bed and is out of his reach. With no other weapon available to him, he resorts to his fists again. He lands a blow at the side of Gisborne's head, the twin pain of the punch sears through his temple but doesn't physically knock him down as it does Guy. Lucas seizes the moment and leaps over Guy's prone body, deftly avoiding the other man's arms as they grasp for his legs but close only over thin air. He is out the door, jumping down the wooden stairs three at a time and out of the door within minutes.

Outside the door another man tries to trip him over as he passes. But Lucas kicks out at him long before Guy's Retainer can get to him. However, the man gives chase to Lucas as he hares across the forecourt of the Castle. He dodges behind carts bound for the market and tries to lose himself in the crowds. But he's lost his tunic and left in his modern attire, he sticks out like a wolf among sheep. Stealing a glance over his shoulder, he can see the Retainer closing in on him fast. He has the benefit of local knowledge, whereas Lucas is running blindly in what he can only hope is a place called Pit Street – where Marian said she would be tending to the sick and poor that day.

However, something finally goes right and he runs headlong into her as she emerges from one of the wattle and daub dwellings by the Castle walls.

"Marian, I'm being chased," he gasps breathlessly, "I need your help."

Marian's eyes widen in shock as she takes in his appearance. "What happened?" she asks, her mouth agape.

He has no time to explain, however. "That man, he's after me!"

Marian looks over his shoulder, in the direction he has just come from. The look on her face changes instantly from horror, to cold anger. Her sets in determination as she strides forward.

"Allan!" she calls, her tone hard as it was in his flashbacks.

Lucas turns and sees the Retainer who'd chased him suddenly cowed like an errant schoolboy. He's suddenly in retreat as Marian bears down on him, his hands held up in a gesture of defeat. Despite the pain he is still in, Lucas doubles over with laughter as Marian aims a punch on the man's nose. Luckily, this time, the pain is the exclusively property of the unfortunate Allan. Lucas isn't everyone's whipping boy.

"You leave this man alone, he's with Robin and the Outlaws now," she remonstrates loudly, sending his former pursuer into a tizzy.

"All right! All right!" he pleads, still backing away. "I'll tell Guy I lost 'im at the Markets, all right? I'd never betray you, Marian, you know that."

Her mocking laughter rings shrilly across the square they're in. "Surely you jest!" she retorts angrily. "You betrayed your brothers in arms, Allan. Don't you ever forget it."

Allan looks affronted. "Not bloody likely, is it?"

However, Marian has pointedly turned her back on him and is jogging back to Lucas with a look of thunderous fury on her face. He braces himself, wary of becoming her next target. However, by the time she's closed the gap between them, she has reverted to her usual, sweet-natured self. "That man," she explains, "was one of Robin's gang. But Guy got to him, somehow, and he turned traitor on us."

An Asset.

"Could he be spying for you from within Gisborne's household?" he asks, following her down the street as she makes her rounds.

Marian rolls her eyes. "If he told me it was raining outside I'd get a second opinion."

Asset burned. But that's not all.

Lucas reaches out and places a hand on her elbow to stop her. "He was chasing me because Guy caught me in his house."

Marian has to double take. She blinks, screws up her face, as she tries to comprehend his rash stupidity.

"What, pray tell, were you doing in Guy's house?" she demands, exasperatedly.

Luckily, her anger is brief. She steers him towards the open countryside beyond the Castle gates where they can speak without being over-heard. But she's still leading him by one tightly gripped wrist, like an angry mother marching a recalcitrant toddler home. He ignored the open-mouthed stares of passers-by, having become rather used to it. He can imagine what they're thinking: one of the most feared men in their county being hen-pecked by a mere girl.

"What if Guy finds out you've been seen with me?" he asks, worried for her safety and eager to get her talking so he can gage her anger levels.

"I'll just say I was making sure you were banished from the Castle grounds. After all, I have no idea that you'd just let yourself into his house."

He almost laughs again. Even the prettiest girls could lie easily, he was used to it.

They reach an old barn in a disused strip of land. It had already been harvested several times, so would be left for this season while other strips of land were cultivated instead. Once inside, Marian ensures the door is closed securely and that they have not been followed. When she returns to Lucas, she sits down beside him on a bale of hay.

"What did you think you were doing?"

He explained everything, from the moment he left the Castle to the moment Allan had chased him across the forecourt of the Castle. By the time he finished, Marian was looking at him in sympathy.

"Lucas, you don't understand how this place works," she says with a groan. "You told that Scullery maid you came from the Blacksmiths, but you were wearing the Gisborne livery. That means you work for him in his household, not some artisan's smithy. She would have seen that right away and gone straight to Gisborne."

Chastened, he lets his gaze drop to the floor. He had dropped his guard and assumed that it would be easy, just because these people did not have access to the tools he did. His own twenty-first century arrogance had led to the failure of his impromptu field op. He wants to kick himself.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking back up at her. "It was all my own fault."

Seeing his remorse, Marian's expression softens considerably. "It will be all right," she replies, "but I cannot take you back to the Castle now. It's too risky and you're hurt. I'll take you back to the Camp and Djaq can tend to your injuries."

They rise to leave immediately. The day is wearing on and dusk will soon be falling. As they walk, they chatter about what happened, when Lucas remembers one salient point about the encounter.

"I felt his pain," he said, "and he felt mine."

Marian looks up at him. "Explain."

"I was having flashbacks when he caught me, so I didn't see him sneak up on me," he explained. "So he hits me and lands a kicking before I had a chance to do so much as raise a hand to defend myself. But when I went to fight back, he was already in pain; doubled over. When I elbowed him in the face, it hurt me, too. I punched him a few more times and, every time, I felt the pain as much as him. When I hit him in the nose, I bled too."

They continue in silence while Marian mulls it over. Her brow is wrinkled in a frown, her expression distant. "It just gets stranger and stranger," she finally utters. "Are you sure?"

"Certain."

Marian shrugs. "I wish I knew the meaning of all this," she states, throwing her hands up in defeat with a groan. She takes a few deep breaths to compose herself again. "I mean, it's fascinating and compelling. But fearful at the same time."

Lucas lets his thoughts wander as they make their way through the forest. His part in the mission is burned, but Marian's is not. She had already been taught how to switch the camera phone on and she would be able to do that herself. She will bring the resultant footage straight to the camp. However, Lucas is bitterly disappointed that he will no longer be there. He wants to see Guy again. It is a compulsion, to get a glimpse into the other man's life, his workings and his dealings.

Marian pauses, some new comprehension dawning in her expression. "Djaq," she says.

"What about her?"

"She's bound to know," replies Marian. "She's the most intelligent one in that camp and she's bound to have some knowledge of what's going on, even if it is just theory."

Lucas shrugs; anything is worth a try.

* * *

But several hours later, having recounted the whole ordeal from beginning to end to not just Djaq, but Robin and Little John too, they are still in the dark. Djaq dabs at Lucas' wounds with damp linen dipped in a special ointment that makes his cuts sting sharply. Robin is pacing again, frowning and dwelling on Lucas' visions of Marian's death. Little John is stoic and silent as he gazes into the flames of the camp fire at the mouth of Lucas' cave.

"Tell me again about the place where it happens?" asks Robin.

Lucas takes a moment to recall every minute detail and every precise clue. "It looks like a desert," he answers, feeling inadequate. "There are other people there: a large man, blond hair, is lying on the ground with an arrow in his back. He's wearing chainmail and a tunic with the Royal Standard. There's like a fountain there, with water. A few houses. The Sheriff is there, too. That's all I can remember."

There is a long pause as some collective thinking goes on.

"Sounds like the Holy Land," says Robin, eventually.

"The Holy Land?" repeats John, joining the conversation for the first time. "What would Gisborne, the Sheriff and Marian be doing in the Holy Land?"

"We know Gisborne's been there before," Robin snorts with contempt. "The man you see is obviously the King, can you remember if he is alive or dead?"

"Robin, that's enough," Djaq cuts him off as she finishes tending Lucas' wounds. "Lucas needs rest, now. He can answer more questions in the morning."

Robin concedes readily, much to Lucas' relief. The anger he feels towards himself for blowing his cover so spectacularly doesn't extend to the rest of the Outlaws and, for that, he is grateful. But the day as been long and he's exhausted. He wants to be alone, to think things through and get the facts straight in his own mind. Alone again, he crawls onto his bed near the back of the cave, away from the water that drips down the opening. He finds his doggy-tag still lying where he left it two days previously, and puts it round his neck before slipping into a deep sleep.

* * *

FYI: For anyone who may be disappointed with the lack of Lucas/Guy interraction here, there will be a lot more. It's not done yet!


	9. Two of a Kind

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your feedback is always welcome. The usual disclaimers apply: I own nothing; all credit to BBC/Kudos/BBC America. Thank you again for reading, and reviews would be gratefully received.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Two of a Kind**

"_**There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy". (Hamlet, William Shakespeare).**_

"What did you tell them, John?" The tone is inquisitive, more than just politely interested. "Did you tell them that you didn't know?"

Lucas watches as the beads of sweat drip from Vaughn's face, down to his lap where it mingles with the blood from the knife wound in his leg. He's paying no real heed; all he can hear is the taunting voice, mocking him. The gun is still in his hand, but he's lowered his arm as the bitter truth registers. All thoughts of taking a shot pushed aside, at least for now. They are on their own; Maya has just left the lock-up, shaken but unhurt following her ordeal. He had thought that she was all he cared about, but the hold Vaughn has on him, even now, has him firmly rooted to the spot.

Lucas looks, once again, into Vaughn's cold, grey eyes. Even at the point of death, they twinkle with malice and mirth. The dying man's laughter is low, as if all this is just some private in-joke shared between friends. "I know what you did! You told them it was me, didn't you?" he doesn't seem in the least bit angry, or even surprised. "I wonder, if you can even remember the truth of what you were?"

But Lucas does remember. He remembers the bomb in Dakar; he remembers walking out of the Embassy as if in a living dream, moving through the silence before hunching down behind a crappy old car. His finger over the button on the mobile phone, just a moment's hesitation, before detonating the device. He recalls, with eviscerating clarity, the infinitesimal pause that – in his mind at least – seemed to last forever, before the blast. Then, the debris and human detritus thrown through the air like a storm in a doll factory. The dust cloud mushrooming, clearing slowly to reveal the walking wounded passing through the mists like the undead. He recalls it all; he knows exactly what he is. He is nothing.

"You're a killer, John, who fell asleep and dreamed he was a hero," the voice of the other man drags Lucas back to the present. "Now it's time to wake up and remember the truth."

He's watching the bodies move; the dust still clearing in the blazing heat of the African sun. The silence of the immediate aftermath unlike anything he had ever experienced. His stomach burns, but he is empty, in a daze as the magnitude of what has done sets in. He will never know another moment of peace in his life.

"The dream is over now, and the killer is awake."

* * *

And he awakens with a scream of horror, groping into the darkness as his stomach heaves and he vomits copiously over the side of his makeshift bed. Lucas spits out the acrid residue and leans back into the bed, panting heavily. Like so many nights before this one, he pushes the memories back down, locking them away in that secret part of his psyche that he keeps in code red lock down. Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, he shakily extricates himself from the bed sheet twisted about his legs.

"I wish you had met me first."

The voice of Harry Pearce suddenly calls out from his memories; out of the blue. Lucas freezes, in the middle of pulling on his jeans. He recalls the words again, as well as where they were spoken. That day, up on the Enver Tower. It all seemed so long ago, but the reality is it was barely a week. Then, he's back there: he can feel the breeze; can see the sadness in Harry's eyes as he speaks the words. "I wish you had met me first." How different things could have been, with just one twist of his own personal history. He could have been a good man; he could have been the hero he always dreamed he was. If only he had met Harry Pearce first, and not Vaughn Edwards.

He shakes himself down and steps out into the night. Through the gaps in the forest canopy, he can see the star strewn skies, clear and infinite, stretching out above him. All around him, bound to the earth, he can hear the nocturnal creatures darting through the trees, the howl of a lone wolf (reminding him of just how far in the past he really is) and the cry of an owl hidden in the boughs of the trees. The Outlaws sleep on, undisturbed by any of it. Lucas is alone with his ghosts, this night. By the looks of it, there's a lot of it left, too. He retired early, Djaq's orders. Now, he was awake and alert.

To the left of him, the fire has gone out. Only the glow of the embers, red against the rural darkness, can be seen where it once blazed. He walks to the camouflaged hut, buried in a hillside, where the Outlaws hide for the night. They had showed him around it earlier, but he opted for his privacy in the cave. Not that he wasn't touched by their offer to take him into the heart of their cell. Then, he remembers again, he is not one of them. He remembers the dream he had, the one he still has about being a hero. Vaughn was right about him, but wrong about the dream ending. It merely permutated into something new. He was re-living the same lies with the Outlaws as he was MI5; History on an endless repetition.

He walks away from the camp, pushing through the undergrowth that obscures their hideaway from the roads that criss-cross the forest. He knows where he is going; he just doesn't want to admit it to himself.

* * *

There's a Guard on the door, now. Guy has stepped up his security since Lucas' last 'visit'. He's warming his hands against the night chill at an open brazier that crackles, consuming the dried twigs that feed its flames. Lucas is careful to make no noise as he approaches, not wanting to set the man affright with too early appearance. However, when he gets within a few yards of him, he clears his throat.

"Who goes there?" the man demands, jumping out his skin and grabbing his halberd in a flurry.

"I need to speak with-"

"Sir Guy, I thought you were in bed!" the Guard hastily relaxes, having peered through the light of his brazier at Lucas.

Lucas smiles. "No," he replies, holding his hands up. "No, I am not Sir Guy. Go to him now; tell him John Bateman must speak with him as a matter of urgency."

The Guard's demeanour changes in a trice. "You!" he hisses, "we put a warrant for your arrest-"

"Then arrest me!" retorts Lucas. "But take me to Sir Guy, first. He'll want to know for sure that I'm taken in. You'll be rewarded, I am sure."

The Guard pauses, his face twisting as he digested the words. "You're right, you know," he said, stepping forwards and grabbing Lucas' wrists so that they were pinned behind his back. He put up no resistance; on the contrary, he allowed himself to be frog marched back into the private home of Sir Guy of Gisborne.

Inside, a Chamberlain was roused from his slumbers and sent to fetch the master of the house. To his surprise, Gisborne appeared just minutes later. He was dressed in a black shirt over woollen breeches. Still in his day clothes, not even a hint of sleepiness about him. He was up on the mezzanine floor, looking down at his new prisoner with utmost loathing. Lucas returns Gisborne's look, careful to keep his expression neutral. Now that both men are aware of each other, however, there is no fear or alarm on either side.

"Thank you, Alric, you may leave us now," says Sir Guy, leaning over the bannister.

A moment of silence.

"But sir-"

"I said, that will be all, Alric," repeats Guy, in a tone that suggests he is not well disposed to having to repeat himself too often to his subordinates.

The Guard reluctantly releases his grip on Lucas's wrists and backs out of the front door, daring to gainsay his master no more. Guy waits, still leaning over the bannister, waiting until the unfortunate Alric is gone. Only then does he descend the wooden stairs, stepping out into the Great Hall before Lucas.

The tension crackles as the silence spins out between them. Each looking the other straight in the eye, each a mirror of the other, even in the poor light of the candelabras. Lucas has already made up his mind, he will not speak first. But Guy is keeping him waiting. They're like two chess opponents; one dares the other to touch a piece, to make that first move.

When Guy does speak, his lips barely move his tone is so low.

"Who conjured you?" he asks. "What night tripping witch magicked you from the heart of the forest?"

The corner of Lucas' mouth twists into a half smile. "You know I'm as real as day," he replies, softly. "You and I, we're two of a kind."

Guy blanches, a muscle in his jaw jumps as if he's biting down on his own tongue. "Tell me, then, why I haven't had you arrested and taken to the Castle dungeons, then?"

Lucas stifles a laugh. "Then what? You'll have me tortured?" he asks, brow raised. "You and I both felt it, yesterday. We both noticed. So let's not pretend you're going to do anything silly. We're almost one, just in two different bodies and I have a feeling you're as curious as I am as to why."

Guy seems thrown. His brow knits, a shadow passing fleeting over his face. "You don't know?"

"Of course not," Lucas answers, genuinely amused that the other man thinks him some Imp from a fairy tale, conjured by witchcraft. "You're as much a surprise to me as I am to you; I've just had longer to think about it. I must say, Sir Guy, your reputation goes before you."

Lucas can recall all the looks he's had. Loathing; fear, defiance and disgust, mostly. He wonders how any man can exist like that, to be so loathed and seem to almost relish in his own unpopularity. Guy looks away, looking back moments later in sheer bewilderment. "You have better step this way," he said, turning and climbing back up the stairs.

Lucas follows him to a large study with iron barred chests on the floor. He sits down on one, regretting it almost immediately. But Guy is too suspicious of him to offer him a more comfortable seat. Instead, the other man goes to the casement windows where the moonlight spills in and casts a pallid glow across the study. Lucas can only see him in silhouette now; something that makes him feel more comfortable; less like he's talking to a reflection of himself.

Lucas gets in first with the questions, and the first thing on his mind is whether Guy knows anything about him.

"Do you know a man called Vaughn Edwards?"

Guy turns from the window. "Who?"

"Have you ever seen me before? In dreams… or…"

Guy snorts derisively. "Now you just sound insane," he snaps back at Lucas. "Look, I don't know who you are; where you've come from, or why you're here. I just wish you'd go back there and never darken my doorway again."

For the first time since his arrival, Lucas thinks he's worked something out. He can see Guy's life because it's in the past – it has already happened. However, Guy cannot see his because it is in the future, and that is – as yet – unwritten. Anything could happen.

"I knew a man like the Sheriff, once," says Lucas, more to himself than to Guy. "A man who controls people; makes others do their dirty work for them-"

"You know nothing about me or the Sheriff!"

The anger in Guy's voice is no surprise Lucas, who doesn't so much as flinch when Guy rounds on him. "I may not know, but I understand-"

"Nothing!" Guy snaps again, pushing away from the window. "You. Understand. Nothing."

Guy begins to pace, tracking his way across the moonlight rushes on the floor. He wants to lash out at Lucas, he can tell, but only the prospect of the pain rebounding on to him stays his hand. Lucas is hitting all the right raw nerves, and he's doing so for remotely acknowledged reason.

"What do you do, Sir Guy?" he asks, following the man's progress back and forth. "You enforce the words of a manipulative tyrant. You are his whipping boy; his punching bag and his dogsbody, all conveniently rolled into one. Yes, I think I knew a man like that, once. You kill; you destroy your own soul, and for what?"

Now that their eyes have adjusted to the gloom, they look to one another again. Guy's expression is pained, he can see the truth of what Lucas is saying. But when he speaks, Lucas is infuriatingly back at square one with him. "You're just spewing out the lies Robin Hood has been forcing down your throat!" he retorts.

But Lucas' half smile grows into a full smile. "You hate Robin Hood," he states. "But you could have been him, once."

Guy grimaces. "What?"

Now Lucas has him. He's reached Guy's heart of light amongst the dark. He gets to his feet, bold enough to approach Guy again, and stands directly behind him. They could almost be two lovers, whispering sweet nothings to each other in the moonlit night. "You came to that crossroads yourself," he elaborates. "You were so close, Guy, to being the champion of your people. You could so easily have done it. Then the Sheriff got you, didn't he? He's got inside your head and now his poison leaks through your veins where human blood should be. He controls you like a puppet on a string."

Deep in Lucas' chest, an all consuming hatred for the Sheriff begins to simmer. Is it his? Is it Guy's? He cannot honestly tell because the Sheriff reminds him so much of Vaughn it could easily be him. But the way Guy looks at him, now. Eyes wide, as if some deeply held secret buried in his heart had been thrown open for all the world to see.

When Guy speaks, it's a whispered mantra, the truth of which had been exposed as a lie a long time ago, if only he himself could see it. "The Sheriff made me," he whimpers, "the Sheriff made me."

Lucas presses his advantage. "Who're you trying to convince, Guy?" he asks, almost amused. "Me? Or yourself? Come along now, because neither of us really believe that any more, do we?"

Guy wets his lips, gulps hard as he tries to pull himself together. "I know which side my bread's buttered on, thank you very much. And you, John Bateman, are nothing."

Lucas shakes his head. "I lied," he said. "John Bateman is a killer who became a hero. Guy of Gisborne was a hero, who became a killer. You and me, we're two peas in a pod. The one soul spliced in two, with just centuries dividing us."

Lucas is playing along, making it all up as he goes. But it's gone too far for Guy. The trademark sneer is back on his face, the wrinkled disgust.

"You're out of your mind," he snorts, "now I want you out of my house, too."

However, Lucas isn't quite ready to concede defeat. "Come to me, Guy," he said. "If you had met Robin Hood first, things could have been so different. But it's not too late. Come over to me, and you could have it all. The respect of your people, your freedom from the Sheriff, and the girl."

He left 'the girl' until last, and they both know he means Marian. It's wrong, but he needs this Asset; it feels right; the only way to stop the inevitable murder happening. Guy's expression is much like his own – unreadable.

No more can be achieved that night, so Lucas turns to leave. However, he stops at the door and turns to see Guy still looking at him in angry bewilderment. "Think about it, Guy."

The conversation left Lucas exhausted. He barely had energy enough to knock out the Guard on Guy's door before he had a chance to try and re-arrest him as he passed, back towards the forest. By the time he really did it make it home, he returned to his cave and slept the day away. He even missed the drops and the burglaries of passing tax collectors – normally something he enjoyed watching.

* * *

It is sundown by the time Marian gallops into the forest, mounted on a sturdy palfrey horse. Breathless and flushed from her ride through the woods, she dismounts heavily, calling out for Lucas. As she crosses the clearing, she reaches down the front of her bodice and pulls out his mobile phone. The Outlaws are crowding around her by the time Lucas appears at the mouth of his cave. His meeting with Guy had chased the knowledge of the Black Knights meeting clean out of his head.

Robin barks at the others to give her some space, and she and Lucas finally see each other. She is beaming proudly.

"I think I did it!" she exclaims brightly, bounding over to him and flushed with pride. "The red light came on, and it was still on when they all left an hour and I half later."

Lucas breathes a sigh of relief. "Bring it inside, we'll see it better in here."

Marian was unable to play the footage back herself, so she had switched it off – just as Lucas as showed her. However, there was not much battery power left by the time the entire camp had taken ringside seats in Lucas' cave for the big show. However, the images were clear and every voice had been picked out, crystal clear. This is Marian's first time seeing the camera phone in action, and she sits amazed, gaping at the pictures from her seat between Guy and Robin.

The very first thing they see is a close up of Marian switching the camera on. She blushes deeply beside Lucas, coyly hiding her face ("Oh my! Do I really look like that!?"). On screen, however, she turns and pretends she is laying out a basket of fresh forest fruits and wine for the assembling Knights. A nice touch, like an MI5 pro, thinks Lucas. She even curtsey's to the most senior, wishing them luck and hoping every thing is satisfactory.

As the meeting begins, the Outlaws huddle in silence around the tiny screen on the phone. The opening looks ceremonious, to Lucas. The Sheriff's opening speech is rattling off some guff about "letting the walls enclose us". He is impatient to get to the nitty-gritty, which begins immediately afterwards.

The Sheriff's eyes glitter in the candlelight from his seat, high up the table. Gisborne is by his side, tired looking and uncomfortable. Lucas spends the whole time looking at him, trying to ascertain if their talk had had any visible effect. But the other him is unreadable. He barely even speaks, except for when the Sheriff looks to him for unthinking agreement. The one time Guy does venture his ideas and thoughts, the Sheriff cuts over him as though is isn't there. Gisborne really is just a vessel for the Sheriff to get what he wants. Lucas knows Guy will be chewed up and spat out, and the thought angers him immeasurably. Guy has one chance to put things right, and even that will soon expire.

When the meeting ends, the screen goes dark and the silence in the cave goes unbroken for a long moment. It had not been good; it had confirmed their worst fears.

"They're going to the Holy Lands," Robin summarised bleakly, "to kill the King."

"But only Guy and the Sheriff," Much puts in. "We can waylay them now we know what they're doing."

While this storm of chatter and planning breaks out Lucas, Robin, Djaq and Marian all exchange dark looks. Behind their knot, Little John, too, is silent and suspicious.

"This is it," says Lucas, unwilling to let the tense silence spiral for too long. "This is where I have my visions."

"We cannot let the King die!" Marian states firmly. "I would willingly offer myself up to death before I let that happen."

Robin turns pale as she speaks. "No!" he countermands her. "You are staying right here!"

Marian, however, is on her feet. "Oh no, Robin. We're in this together. You and I!"

Robin goes to argue again, but Lucas cuts him off this time. "Marian must come," he says. "If we leave her behind here, on her own, God knows what will happen. Guy could return at any time. With us, she can be protected."

Marian tries not to beam with pride, but the corners of her mouth twitch and the colour steals into her cheeks. Robin, however, is uncertain.

"Lucas is right, Robin."

They all whirl round in surprise. It is Little John who has spoken up in support of Lucas and Marian. He looks back at them from under his unruly mane of hair, leaning on his staff. "We all go; strength in numbers."

Lucas wants to tell Robin that he is trying to turn Guy of Gisborne, too. But so far the opportunity to do so has not arisen. It was a thin ray of hope, but one he must keep in reserve until they have a water-tight back up plan for the event that Lucas is unsuccessful. Instead, he slinks to the back of the crowd to help Much prepare food and drinks for everyone. He enjoys the routine tasks that make him feel a part of this community of good, honourable thieves. He is a part of them, even if is not really one of them. Vaughn got that wrong, too.

* * *

Thank you again for reading; reviews would be most welcome!


	10. Fourth Crusade

**Author's Note**: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your feedback means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply; I own none of this. Thanks again for reading and, as always, reviews would be most welcome.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Fourth Crusade**

"_**Either way you turn; I'll be there,**_

_**Open up your skull; I'll be there.**_

_**Climbing up the walls." **_

_**Radiohead, "Climbing Up the Walls" (OK Computer, 1997)**_

A pungent smoke fills the cave, blown in on a breeze from the fire outside. It is supposed to be relaxing, but all Lucas can feel is the burning sensation it causes when he breathes in deep, just as Djaq is instructing him to. The more he tries to conjure the sensation of heaviness in his limbs, the more he seems to feel the anxious Outlaws who hover at the mouth of his cave; expectant and restless as Djaq tries to work her magic. Robin has already intruded, desperate to know if Djaq's technique is working yet. He has also been sent packing with a flea in his ear from Djaq, impatient that she and Lucas should be alone, to relive his memories in a controlled environment.

Once again, the effect of her voice soothing him into a state of deep relaxation is shattered by the sound of Robins voice calling from the mouth of the cave.

"Can you see anything yet, Lucas?"

"ROBIN!" Marian and Djaq yell in unison.

Lucas sits bolt upright, just in time to see their leader darting out of the girl's range as Marian hurls a fistful of something in his direction. She misses by a country mile, but Robin looks hurt all the same.

"I really am trying," Lucas tries to assure him, apologetically.

Marian returns to her place at the back of the cave, out of the way but with a clear view over what is happening. Djaq kneels back down at Lucas' bedside and settles him down again. Her expression is soft, doe eyed and gentle in the half-light of the cave.

"It's all right, Lucas," she says, reassuringly. "This method sounds easy when you explain it, but it takes a lot of practise to actually achieve it."

He raises a half-smile in response; the smoke is burning his eyes, making them stream. "From the beginning, then?"

Djaq squeezes his arm. "From the beginning. Lie down."

He does as he's told, arranging a blanket to cover himself against the slight chill the breeze brings with it. As soon as his eyes are closed, Djaq begins talking him through the process once more. He tenses each muscle in turn; releasing the stored up energy and letting the strength drain from his limbs until his whole body feels leaden. Then, the deep breathing: "In – one, two, three, four; aaand out – one, two, three, four…" she says, time each breath.

This time, it begins to work. Only Djaq's voice, with its lilting accent, pierces the silence and he focuses exclusively on that, letting it carry him away to some place else. After fifteen minutes, his breathing paces itself and he cannot move his limbs. The first time he got this far he panicked, but now he is accustomed. He is not paralysed, just in a state of deeper relaxation than he had ever known. In his other life, it would perhaps be called hypnotisation, but here they have no word for it, and they're not about to ask him to start doing chicken impressions.

It's so dark; all he can hear is Djaq's voice, speaking from so far away. "You're in a prison cell in Russia," she says, prompting him.

This is the dry run. They agreed to a test him on a memory he knows to be real before testing him on his memories of Marian's death, just to see how reliably he can recall events under a third party instruction. The run doesn't stay dry for long: the cell forms just as a towel is placed over his face. It's dark again, but he can feel his arms and legs pinned to the cold, hard tiles that line the floor of his cell. Then, the water begins to spill over the towel; he's breathing it in through his nose and mouth. It's sucked into his burning lungs, dowsing the oxygen. He cannot cry out and starts to struggle like a landed fish, but his captors press down all the harder, he thinks he is drowning. Then, suddenly, the towel is whipped off his face. He cries out, gasping for air, still pinned down by unseen tormentors.

"Lucas, tell me what is happening? What are they doing to you?" He cannot see Djaq; he can only hear her voice, like a narrator who doesn't know what they're narrating.

His vision is blurred, but he can smell the smoke of a cigarette and hear a woman's high heels tapping against the tiles as she paces round him. He gets her in focus; his eyes following her as she paces without looking down at him, as if she wants to shut herself off from what is happening to him.

"What is Sugar Horse?" she asks in heavily accented English. "Who is Sugar Horse?"

"I don't know what Sugar Horse is, I swear!" he half-shouts, half-chokes.

The scene does not change. It has the clarity and realism of a flashback, but he's stuck there. He's still trying to sit up, but struggling against the Guards who have him pinned in place. He panics desperately as the towel, still wet from the last waterboarding, is thrown back over his face. He screams aloud, an anguished scream that turns quickly into an anguished gurgle as the drowning starts again. The woman still asks about Sugar Horse, even he physically cannot answer. Then, her voice completely changes.

"STOP!"

It is Marian, though. It snaps Lucas back into reality, gasping for air as the memory still lives, making him think he's still being tortured. He sits bolt upright again, and turns to where Marian half-stands with her back pressed to the wall, stooping against the low ceiling. Her eyes are shining with tears of fear and pain.

"Stop!" she says again. "Can't you see what it's doing to him?"

For a long moment, there is silence. The three of them look to one another, a pause in which Lucas realises that everyone has gathered around at the opening of the cave. They all witnessed it.

"It's all right," he tries to assure Marian, and everyone else who looks equally horrified. "I selected that memory myself. It worked, and I know if we do this again it will work for my memories of Guy, too."

Robin steps into his line of vision next. "No way!" he states emphatically. "That was too much and I'm not having torture in my camp."

He has no memory of what he did, or what they saw. To Lucas, it was just another dreamscape of the horrors of his own past. But they all look white, shaken and trembling. "It wasn't real, Robin, it was a dream," he argues. "Please, it works. Let's just try one more time."

Robin looks down at him with fear creasing his brow. "Lucas, that was inhuman. You were reliving that all over again; you were feeling the pain again, and I will not ask any one to go through that for my benefit."

The kid glove treatment has having the opposite effect on him; making him even more adamant. "This is not just for your benefit," he retorted angrily. "It is for Marian's, and England's, and for the greater safety of the nation," he stopped, took a moment to calm himself down and, more sedately, he added: "Please, just one more try with Holy Lands memories, and maybe I can tell you all more details. Otherwise, we're fighting blind again."

He started to look to the others for back up, but they were still shaken by his tortured cries the first time around. They don't realise that there is no torture in his Holy Lands memories. However, the others are resolutely not getting involved. Marian, easily the most distressed of them all, is still sobbing in the corner of the cave.

"I have an idea," she says, wiping her eyes and pulling herself together. She gets up and crosses over to them. "Lucas, try and work on Guy one more time. See if you can bring him over to our side just one more time. If you fail, then we try Djaq's memory regression again. Either way, Lucas, you will be doing your bit to help us defeat the Sheriff."

He remembers the promise he made to Guy. That he would get the girl. He didn't say which Girl he would get; he only alluded to it. It was a moral compromise, ones he made all the time while working for MI5. But it still made him queasy. However, Marian's compromise suited him fine: he still, indeed, got to help and, almost as an added bonus, he got to speak with his new friend, Guy of Gisborne, again. Lucas looks over at Robin, who is intently staring into the fire, still with his longbow slung over his shoulder. Lucas is beginning to wonder if he sleeps with it, too.

"I think it's futile," he said, his voice an undertone. "Guy will never exactly be one of us. But, if you think you can get information from him, Lucas, then be my guest." He stops, turning to look directly at Lucas. "I was as keen as anyone for these memory regression thingies to work out. But what I saw you go through, Lucas, it was frightening. That's all I'm saying, and I don't mean to coddle you. I don't coddle anyone, not even Marian. But that was you being tortured all over again – and I can't begin to imagine the pain you went through."

Any anger Lucas feels ebbs away. "I know, but I willingly volunteered," he states. "But I agree with Marian. I'll go to Guy myself and try again; meanwhile, we better get ready for a holiday in the sun. Hope for the best; prepare for the worst."

Robin returns his look and nods. "Very well, but be careful. And Allan A Dale is dead to us; leave him be."

Lucas had wanted him as an asset, but the others unanimously burned it for him. Deciding against contesting the issue, he simply turns and gets dressed, readying himself for another sojourn with his best asset yet.

* * *

"You're back then?"

Lucas thinks the question is rhetorical. Between he and Guy, a lone candle gutters on a table that separates them. His gaze drops to the flame as it sways, and wonders where the draught is coming from. Even at times like these, the mundane creeps in. He cannot see the whole of the hall, but that's where they are: Locksley Manor, the ancestral home of Robin Hood. He looks across the table at the Cuckoo in the Locksley nest.

"I told you I'd return," Lucas finally replies. "Have you thought any more about my offer?"

Guy sighs, long and deep, as he meets Lucas' gaze. "You think you can win me over with the promise of glory and fame and a woman that's already mine," he laughs.

"Already yours?" he retorts. "A bit presumptuous, isn't it?"

"Marian and I are betrothed!" Guy snaps back, his temper fraying as his raw nerve is hit again.

Lucas pauses, giving him time to calm back down. However, he's not ready to back down. In the silence, he can hear the guards pacing outside the iron-enforced doors. He's being watched, and he begins to feel like he has rather underestimated Guy of Gisborne. He's made sure that and Lucas are not quite alone together, he's keeping it transparent in case word gets back to the Sheriff.

"You could take her," says Lucas, "but you'll destroy her in process."

Guy frowns, a shadow passing fleetingly across his face. "You're talking nonsense again."

"I knew a woman like that, once," he replies, keeping his tone even. "I thought if I had her, I would be redeemed. That my life would be complete, that she would turn me into someone else as if by magic. You think Marian will do that to you? She won't. She'll just be sucked into your warped little world, and she will be destroyed by it. And you will, ultimately, be responsible for her destruction."

Guy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, paling visibly even in the warm glow of the candle. Lucas is inwardly pleased; aware that he's peeling off the layers of Gisborne's psyche and exposing him to himself. Home truths that cannot be refuted. Guy, as a result, looks shaken.

"I don't need to listen to this," Guy replies, getting up to leave. "Especially not from you, whatever you are; where ever you've come from."

Somewhere at the back of Lucas' mind, a door closes. "One last chance, Guy, and you'll not see me again."

He fixes the man in his line of vision, even as he walks away. But Guy doesn't even look back as he disappears into the glutinous darkness of the Great Hall.

* * *

They have no time to waste; no time to shed tears over Assets lost. All the same, however, Lucas returns to life at the camp feeling like a failure. Guy is as treacherous as ever; the Sheriff (according to Marian) is growing increasingly excited about their upcoming journey (without ever going into precise details) and Marian is in as much danger as she has ever been in.

The only weapon they have left are the visions locked in Lucas' head.

The camp had been packed up, ready to move hastily across the sea, over the continent, and all the way to the Holy Lands. Some, like Little John, Will Scarlett and Much, had already gone on ahead without them. They would not meet again until they reached Southampton. Before Robin, Marian, Lucas and Djaq left, they had one more trip down memory lane planned.

Lucas had practised Djaq's technique every night before he slept. Without Djaq instructing him, or prompting any memories, he found this technique sent him into a deep, peaceful sleep undisturbed by any nightmares or dreams at all. If nothing else, he was going to be forever grateful for that. Now, all it took for him to get into the right frame of mind was a few minutes of tensing and deep breathing. Then, he fell in deep while still able to communicate the things he was seeing, without screaming the walls down in the process.

He got there effortlessly. The vast, rolling desert sands stretch out before him, but if he turns left he can see a settlement of houses. Blending with the background, they're almost indecipherable from the dunes that surround them. There is, to his surprise, a fountain in the middle of the square that bubbles with crystal waters. A strange site in a country so hot, so far back in time. He is in a doorway, or an alleyway between the houses. There are people everywhere, something he had never noticed before.

His attention is caught by a cry of pain from someone he vaguely recognises. On instinct, he runs forwards and emerges back on the square he was in before. The one with the fountain and the houses. It's the King who's been wounded, and he wants to finish him off. Before he knows what he's doing, his sword is drawn and he's hungry for the kill he knows is coming. If he kills the King, victory will be his … and the Sheriff's.

He advances on the King, who still writhes on the ground. His hand tightens around the hilt of his sword, and knows exactly where he's going to plunge the deadly blade.

"GUY!"

Marian's voice stops him in his tracks; in one instant, he has completely forgotten the fallen King. She is all he can see, as though she is suddenly twice her normal size. He watches, shocked, as she advances across the hot sand, light footed and beautiful in white. She positions herself deliberately between the point of his sword and the King lying, motionless now, on the ground.

"Stop! It's over, Guy. All this time I've been fighting for England; you think I'm going to let you kill England?" she is furious, in a gentle, Marian-like way.

It has little effect on him, though. "Get out of the way!" he storms at her, blinded by rage already. "I am going to do this thing, and I will have power beyond measure and we'll be together. We will be together!"

He knows what's coming next; there's no need to hang around and relive it all again. Djaq jolts him out of his trance with a well aimed beaker of water in the face. He sits bolt upright again, stunned at the sudden cold, wetness, blinking through the water in his eyes. To his left, Robin and Marian sink back in their seats suddenly as though a thoroughly enjoyable film has just come to an abrupt end.

Lucas, however, is disappointed. "Got a lot more that time," he concedes. "But nothing that helps."

"Of course it helps!" Robin retorts. "But when all is said and done, the only way to know for sure is if we go there and stop this thing from happening. We need to save the King and Marian. We know that, now."

"Robin's right," Marian chimes in, rising to her feet. "We must leave now. We must get to Southampton with the others and before the Sheriff's men."

They leave together, but Djaq lingers behind with Lucas to help him pack.

"Thank you for what you did," she says, smiling up at him as she places his laptop in it's case.

"I had to try, for all your sakes," he replies. "It was nothing, really."

He checks his gun, making sure the safety catch is on but still loaded. Everything is coming with him, even the Albany files – as useless to him as it is. It doesn't take long, and as he leaves, he stops Djaq by placing a hand on her elbow. She has to crane her neck to look up at him.

"I did something terrible, once," he states, matter of factly. He doesn't know why he's telling her. "A lot of people died as a result. But I need to know that redemption is possible."

Her expression is puzzled, but not fearful or distrustful. "No matter what you've done," she replies, "I think you've more than atoned."

He follows her out to the pack horses that will bear them to the port, unmindful of the fact that he's never ridden a horse in his life. Perhaps she's right, he thinks, but as Robin said: there's only one way to really be sure. He's got to go out and get what he needs.

* * *

**So, the penultimate chapter (probably) is complete. Thanks again for reading, and reviews would be most welcome!**


	11. The Lost Boys

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic, your feedback means a lot. Usual disclaimers apply: I own none of this. Thanks again for reading and reviews would be appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: The Lost Boys**

**"Now since the sea's great surges sweep me on,  
All canvas spread, hear me! In all creation  
**_**Nothing endures, all is in endless flux**_**  
Each wandering shape a pilgrim passing by  
And time itself glides on in ceaseless flow,  
A rolling stream-and streams can never stay,  
Nor lightfoot hours. As wave is driven by wave  
And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,  
So time flies on and follows, flies and follows,  
Always, for ever new. What was before  
Is left behind; what never was is now;  
And every passing moment is revealed."**

**(Ovid - Metamorphoses; c8 AD)**

Their boat is a glorified raft. Week after week they spend, being tossed across the iron-grey seas, at the mercy of the elements. The horizon and the sky are an indistinguishable, distant blur that Lucas cannot fathom. The others don't even bother to try. By the time they do dock, at the port of Acre, it is nightfall, and no one saw dry land coming. Weak from the voyage, the endless seasickness and the cramped conditions, they have just a few precious hours to get their bearings and work out what to do next.

Acre is silent by night. However, the port is large, sweeping the length of the coast as far as Lucas can see under moonlight. Beyond the bobbing ships and behind the fortified walls that line the seafront, he can just see the market stalls for traders, shrouded in netting. Shops and businesses, sandstone houses and official buildings all make up the main town itself. It is prosperous, despite suffering the ravages of the Crusades. From here, trade is distributed throughout the known world. Egypt and North Africa, Asia and even Europe are all accessible from here, and the town was clearly doing well by it. Beside trade, there is also the incessant flow of Christian pilgrims passing through on their way to Bethlehem and Jerusalem, all boosting trade as they went.

Although night, it is still balmy and the air is tinder dry. Lucas shrugs off his coat, finding it surplus to requirements, and stuffs it into the bag with the laptop containing the Albany files. That done, he retreats back to the heart of the group who are still disembarking from the ship. They didn't bring much beside their weapons and the clothes they stand up in, but disembarking still seemed to be taking an inordinately long time.

"How does it feel to be home?" he asks Djaq. She was first off the ship, ready to lead the way and, at that moment, she has taken a seat under a tree, looking around at the familiar sights she last saw over three years ago.

She ponders the question for a long moment, still taking in the sights and smells of her distant past. "I never thought I would see this place again," she remarks, her voice distant rather than happy. "It feels so strange: familiar, yet strange. It is home, but I feel like a traveller here. Like I'm just passing through."

It hadn't occurred to him before, but he realised then that Djaq would probably not be returning to England with them. This is her home and her people needed her. He realised the reason for the silence: there is a curfew in place. The fortified walls are there because, despite the outward signs of wealth and prosperity, this town is still under foreign occupation; Holy warriors from all over Europe sent by the Pope in Rome to grab a fat slice of Jesus' homeland and to cow his people into submission. He cannot help but wonder what the real Jesus of Nazareth, if he ever really existed at all, would make of that? He almost laughs at the irony.

Once everyone makes it off the boat, Robin regroups them all a mile away, in the centre of the market place where they can all be clearly identified. Much, as always, is at Robin's side. He is followed by Little John; Will Scarlett and Djaq stick close together, arriving shortly after John. Lucas brings up the rear of the party, with Marian at his side. He, being in possession of the deadliest weapon, was charged with guarding her while Robin focused on the main mission of tracking down King Richard.

They regrouped near the closed and locked down doorway of a tavern. The windows were in darkness and not even drunken stragglers dared defy the curfew in this town. They were quite safe to openly congregate (being English) until the dawn, whenever that would be. Robin stands a little apart from the rest of them, and he looks them each in turn.

"This is it, then," he says, keeping his voice low. "We have one chance to save the King; stop the Sheriff and Gisborne and, most importantly, save England. We have to get this right first time. Is everyone clear on what's happening?"

They all nod and utter an "aye". Then Djaq separates from the main knot of Outlaws and moves to stand beside Robin.

"My Uncle lives not far from here, we will stay with him over night. At first light, we track down the King and travel with him until we know the Sheriff is safely neutralised and he is safe."

They did all agree to this on the boat; they certainly had plenty of time during the voyage to hammer out even the finest of details. However, their mission is of such importance that it can never hurt to go over it all again. Wherever the King was, the Sheriff and Gisborne are bound to follow. They need to make sure they are the ones the enemy meet when they do arrive; a trap set and ready to spring.

* * *

Once they reach their safe haven, they step back to allow for Djaq's reunion with her Uncle Bassam. He thought her dead, so they study the dozens of doves he seems to keep as pets while the tears were dried and food for them all was served. Lucas didn't know what the deal with these birds was, but the others seem to know more.

"They carry messages," says Marian, seeing the look on his face.

"What?" he replies with a start, unaware that she was still following him as he looked around the strangely peaceful house he found himself in.

She smiles, tucking a stray curl of hair behind her ear as she turned to one of the bird coups set in the sandstone wall. "They're love birds. Djaq told us all about them. You have to separate them, one carries the message and will fly across the world to track its mate down again," she explains wistfully. "Beautiful, aren't they?"

Lucas raised a wan smile. "Yes," he replies softly, thinking of his own lost loves and what manner of journey he would have to make to be reunited with them.

* * *

If Lucas' time with his Medieval predecessors had been eventful so far, the next day brings with it even more of the same and then some besides. Bassam led them out of town, into the dessert – startlingly like that in his dreams – and out to the camp of King Richard himself. It was vast. A network of tents that stretches out into the distance. They took their leave of Bassam almost immediately and descended down a large hill.

Many of the English soldiers they encounter remember Robin and Much; their passage is easy. But Lucas' nerves are beginning to grate.

"Have you met the King?" he asks Marian as they let themselves fall back from the main group.

She laughs. "Heavens no," she replies.

"Are you nervous?"

She stops and looks up at him, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. "Are you?" she asks, stifling a giggle.

"What's so funny?" he retorts, picking up his pace again.

"I never thought I would see you nervous!"

He grins. "It's been known to happen. Especially when meeting legendary Medieval Kings of England I've only ever read about in History books!"

"I'm sorry, Lucas," she says, playfully glancing up at him. "I guess it doesn't happen every day, even in your strange world."

He shrugs. "Oh, I dunno. Today it's the Lionheart; tomorrow it'll be Longshanks and next I was thinking, maybe, Henry VIII or something."

"Who?"

It is his turn to laugh. "Sorry, those boys are in the future here. Longshanks is famous for hammering the Scots. Henry VIII had a fetish for wedding cake and split from Rome to marry the girl of his dreams, then chopped her head off-" he stopped himself there, realising how close to the bone he was getting. The horrors of the future could wait until they had dealt with their own.

"We're here!"

Robin's exclamation cut across their conversation. Lucas and Marian come to an abrupt halt as they all look up at a vast marquee made from cloth of gold. So much grander than all the others, it was obviously acting as a transitional royal court and head quarters of the Crusade. Lucas's heart palpitates painfully as Robin disappears straight inside and, mere moments later, a roar of delight resonates from inside.

"Robin of Locksley! Great to see you!"

Marian shivers at Lucas' side. "That must be him!" she whispers urgently, "the King!"

Everyone falls silent as they strain their ears to listen to what is being said. But the din of the camp makes it impossible. Soldiers in chainmail and toughened leather hauberks mill about, chatting loudly as they practise their fighting techniques. Even the horses seem to grow louder as Lucas attempts to eavesdrop on Robin and the King. After a few minutes, however, they are called in one at a time; and Lucas is first.

He exchanges a glance with Marian.

She beams. "Good luck," she mouths the words as he steps towards the opening of the marquee.

King Richard I is a big man. Wide set, stocky and broad shouldered. Every bit the Medieval King he heard about during his school days. However, his blue eyes twinkle under close-cropped blond hair. He smiles easily and exudes a natural air of charisma and authority. A natural leader who can inspire confidence in other men by the mere fact of his presence. Robin, standing at King Richard's side, looks suddenly rather small beside this colossus of a man.

"Your Grace, this is Lucas of Cumbria. He has travelled, er, a long way to be with us," Robin introduces him, skating over the more problematic details of his presence among them. "He brings word of Sheriff Vasey and Sir Guy of Gisborne."

Lucas is rooted to the spot. He doesn't know if he should kneel, bow or make some other form of obsequie. King Richard, however, doesn't seem bothered by any show of loyalty. He merely turns his eye to Lucas and extends a hand, shaking firmly as they're formally introduced. His grip is predictably firm; his skin toughened from years of Crusading and living in a tent – even a royal tent is still a tent.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lucas. I trust Robin has been taking care of you?" he says, gesturing to his servants to prepare a place at the table set in the middle of the room. "Tell me about Vasey and Gisborne. I've had my doubts about both of them for some time now."

Lucas's mind is in a whirl as he tries to straighten out the story in his head. However, Robin gets in first and explains much more lucidly than he could.

"They head up a highly dubious organisation known as the Black Knights and they seek to replace Your Grace as King-"

Robin is momentarily broken off as King Richard sighs and rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me, my dear little brother, John, seeks yet again to undermine me?"

In return, Robin raises a rueful smile. "But, Your Grace, with the backing of the Black Knights they're gaining momentum. The Sheriff grows bolder with their money and men and support," he explains, trying to impress upon the worryingly flippant King just how serious the situation is. "Lucas managed to infiltrate a meeting of the Black Knights at the Castle of Nottingham; grant him audience and hear what he has to say."

Both men now look to Lucas who recognises the King's silent nod as a signal for him to take up the story. He draws a deep breath to calm the butterflies in his belly.

"What Lady Marian and I overheard at this meeting was that both the Sheriff and Sir Guy of Gisborne are to travel here and assassinate you. They are planning to form a hasty alliance with the Saracen leader to achieve this. With his contrivance, they are to be led here under the guise of negotiating a peace deal. Then, when they have you alone, they will do the deed; placing your brother on the throne in your place."

By the time he has spoken his piece, Lucas is content that he is speaking to another human being, just a legendary one. The King's expression does not change, a part of the King so reminiscent of Harry Pearce that it almost brings on the flashbacks. Even in the face of imminent danger, he is calm and collected; not, as Lucas first thought, complacent. Like Harry, the King is probably just used to the ever present dangers of murder and assassination.

"Thank you for bringing me this news of treason, Lucas," the King replies, giving a thoughtful rub of the stubble on his chin. "You will be rewarded when we get back to England, trust me. For now, you will all join my personal guard. Robin and Much will be able to help; they've done it all before. If you're right, then it's only a matter of time before the Sherriff and Gisborne make their move."

The audience is over and Lucas retreats outside and Much is ushered in next. Another of the King's old guard, he is received with the same enthusiasm as was Robin. Marian is left until last, her earlier nonchalance at meeting her King has been replaced with scattering nerves. By the time she is called in, she is visibly shaking with fear and excitement in equal measure. He smiles as she goes. "Good luck," he says, watching her vanish.

* * *

Beyond the King's camp had come to feel like familiar territory to Lucas. He has been there every night in his dreams since this had all began. Every corner he turned, he expected Gisborne or the Sheriff to be lurking there in wait. However, it wasn't until two more days of travelling with the King, gaining ground from the locals inch by inch as they fight forwards, that he realises they have finally reached the destination he has dreamed about so much.

The arrangement of the streets lined with whitewashed, sandstone houses; the fountain bubbling in the square, the wind bent palm trees leaning to the east and the dusty plains. It's as though he has stepped into his own unconscious mind. He turns in a circle, taking it all in. As he turns, he spots a stranger dressed in black riding towards the King. He stops abruptly, jolted back into reality as he fixes his attention on the new arrival, materialising from a side street. His hand is already reaching towards the gun holstered under his shirt. Then, he breathes a sigh of relief. It is only a messenger and the King greets the man personally, with his usual grace and charm.

"Marian," he says, turning towards her. "This is the place. Stay with me. Do not leave my side."

The colour drains from her face and she nods. "You're sure?"

Before he can answer, the King calls them all over. The messenger is already gone, disappearing back the way he came. King Richard is holding aloft a scroll of parchment. Marian and Lucas take off at a run towards him.

"This is it," he says. "An invitation to a peace summit with Salahuddin. All we must do is wait."

They do not have to wait long, either. As soon as the messenger is out of sight and the news disseminated, an attack comes immediately. A volley of arrows is loosed from the rooftops of the surrounding buildings and Lucas launches himself on top of Marian to protect her while Robin and the others all scramble to reply to the assault. Lucas, however, is charged only with protecting Marian.

He grabs her wrist and runs full pelt towards a side alley. "This way!" he shouts over his shoulder at her, but not giving her any choice in where they go all the same.

Once there, they run straight into a an attacking group of Saracens. Lucas lets go of Marian and punches the first clean out. Marian, recovering swiftly from the shock, kicks another in the groin, making him squeal like a stuck pig with pain. Lucas grins approvingly at her as he gets the third attacker in a headlock before kicking his legs from under him. Marian, a fierce fighter for such a slim girl, has already despatched the fourth and final of them by the time Lucas has dealt with his new friend.

"Well done," she gasps, breathless and excited.

"Quite a team!" he winks at her before pulling her further down the street.

There is no one else about, so they come to rest in a disused outhouse where they cannot be seen from outside. They can hear the sounds of distant fighting, though. Raised voices call above the pell-mell, English as well as Eastern. Marian flinches with every shout, getting nervier as the adrenaline from their fight wears off.

"We have got to get back out there," she says, just the King can be distantly heard issuing another order. "We have to make sure Robin is all right!"

Lucas knows she is right, but for the moment is reluctant to move. This was not part of the Sheriff's plan. They were to lure the King to a peace conference. But, it seems, that was a lie, too. A surprise attack, this surprise attack, would give Gisborne and the Sheriff a much needed advantage. Lucas could have kicked himself; he should have guessed they would do this.

"This was their plan all along," says Marian, echoing his thoughts precisely.

"I should have guessed it all along with these double-dealing bastards," he adds, reproaching himself more than anyone else.

They both fall silent, straining to hear what was going on in the market square. However, it had gone quiet. The clashing armies must have dispersed. Unable to delay any longer, Lucas got up off his knees ready to go back out there. Then, Marian pulls him back with a finger pressed to her lips, she has heard something he hasn't.

"Long live the King … No!"

It was the Sheriff. Lucas' blood freezes as he recognises the harsh voice. The twang of a loosed arrow is followed by a roar of pain. Footsteps come running down the alleyway outside and Marian pulls Lucas just out of the Sheriff's sight as he makes his escape.

They both take a moment to recover themselves, catching their breath as they digest their near miss. But after that, they both run hard towards the square where King Richard lies dying with an arrow in his back. They both come to an abrupt halt as they take in the scene. The others have gone, and there is no sign of them anywhere. There is a small flight of steps leading from their hiding place to where the King lies wounded, but they are still concealed from there.

"This is it," says Lucas. "This is the dream."

He has just realised that she is even wearing the same dress. He had not noticed before. Only at the beginning, before he knew her name, was the phantom in his dreams known as "the woman in white". Since he learned her name, he ceased to care about her frocks.

"He'll be here any second," he adds under his breath, slumping down behind wall that conceals them.

Marian is silent and pale, looking washed out even though the sun has bronzed her cheeks. "Guy," she fills in the blank he left.

The Sheriff's plan has worked like a charm. The Outlaws have been scattered by the surprise attack; the King is isolated and the battle almost won. It is only now that Lucas realises what he must do. He thinks he has known it all along, but not wanted to acknowledge it to himself. But the stark reality hits him like cheap pornography under neon lights. Already, another set of running feet intrude upon his tumultuous thoughts, and he knows it's Guy of Gisborne come to kill the King.

He turns to Marian. "Stop him," he says, flatly.

She looks back at him startled. "What?"

He repeats himself, his voice tremulous. "Go out and stop him."

Her eyes widen as she bites back tears. "You want me to sacrifice myself-"

"No!" he cuts her off, realising how little time they have. "Trust me. Go out there and stop him. England cannot fall to these tyrants."

She takes a deep breath to steel herself before setting off at a run like a sprinter off the starter's blocks.

"Guy!" she calls out, her footsteps light as she pads across the sands.

"Marian, get out of the way!" Gisborne's familiar voice responds.

Lucas rolls over on to his belly and crawls to the top of the stairs that Marian had just descended. He could see them clearly, but Marian had her back to him. She was obscuring his shot.

"I won't let you kill England," she snaps defiantly back at him.

"Get out of the way!" Guy swipes the sword in her direction, causing her to leap backwards. "I will do this thing and we will be together!"

Lucas lines up the shot, blanking all other thoughts out of his mind. He only half listens to Marian's reply, he just catches the words 'I love Robin Hood."

He watches her step to one side as Guy raises his sword. This is his chance. He takes a deep breath, and squeezes the trigger of the gun; the blast of the shot ricochets down the dusty streets, sending a flock of birds to startled flight. A grunt of pain draws Lucas's attention back to Guy of Gisborne who clutches at the open wound in his chest. Gisborne falls backwards, almost in slow motion. Lucas feels it, too. He has bitten into his wrist to stop himself from crying out and looks at Marian through a haze of tears that blur his vision. Tears brought on by the pain that sears across his chest. He knew, deep down, that it would come to this.

"Lucas!" Marian's voice rings shrill across the suddenly silent square. "What have you done?"

She knows. The bullet hasn't just taken out Guy of Gisborne. Before he can formulate any reply, she's back and kneeling at his side, looking down at him with tears dripping down her face.

"Do you forgive him?" Lucas asks, each word laboured as his strength ebbs away.

Her eyes are ablaze. "I'll never forgive him for this! You're the man he should have been, and this is not fair!"

He shakes his head, tries to move but his strength is gone and it's too painful. "Please," he whispers, "try, for my sake."

Her tears choke her, she can barely get the words out. "But it's not right, Lucas. You shouldn't have to die for him."

He cannot think how to make her understand: this is his redemption. He has sacrificed himself so she can live and love, and so that England can prosper under right rule and governance. He has died again, to save his country and let a legend live on. Guy and him, they're one and the same: they're the lost boys who never stood a chance at growing up to be well balanced, happy adults. They are damaged, and they damage and destroy all that they hold dear. It's the only thing they know. Now, Lucas knows he has broken a chain and stopped a cycle. The tempest of their lives is stilled. If there is a next life, it will not be a repeat of this. It will not be a repeat of John Bateman and Lucas North and Guy of Gisborne. He may even have a shot at happiness. He may even get some peace, at last.

"This is what I came here to do," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I was sent here to save you, and I know that now. I could only save you by stopping him; and stopping him meant I had to kill him. He and I, we're the same. Don't you understand?"

Slowly, she nods her head. "I do this out of love for you, Lucas," she replies, choking back her emotions. "I forgive him readily for your sake. You are not the same as him; you're twice the man he could ever have been."

He raises a wan smile as his hand closes over the Outlaw tag that still hangs around his neck. He is dying a free man. Free from the pain of his past and the ghosts of Russia; free from the lies that shackled him to his own private prison cell in his head; free from the shame of betrayal. He speaks the words he once said to Ruth Evershed: "You've done enough now," he says. "Marry him. Be happy. Love one another. Eternally."

The others are regrouping around him, demanding to know what has happened as he closes his eyes for the final time. He wonders what he has done with the Albany File, but it will be safe enough here, whatever it is. He squeezes the doggy tag one more time, and lets the warm, silent darkness fold over him. He is not sad, for he and Guy have peace at last. They are both free men, now.


	12. Tapestries

**Author's Note:** I know I said the previous chapter was the last one, but I decided to incorporate the second ending (I had two different ones right from the off) into the story – not just because it's a lot happier, but because it gives me the opportunity to tie up some loose ends and give a fuller ending. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story – it means a lot.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Tapestries**

"_**See you in your next life, when we'll fly away for good.**_

_**Stars in our own car, we can drive away from here.**_

_**Far away, so far away…"**_

"_**Next Life", Suede ("Suede", 1993)**_

It is cold. Dark and cold. As well as cramped. He can barely move and a bag made from some rough, irritating fabric is over his head. A lock clicks open, a door is released, but still no light enters Lucas's world; it is as dark as it ever was. Then, rough hands haul him to his unsteady feet, legs like jelly, they must hold him up or he'll just fall back down into the boot of the car he's just been hauled from. He cannot see Arkady Kachimov, but he can sense him on his right hand side. They lead him forwards a few steps and a hand – probably that of Kachimov – reaches out and pulls the bag off his head to reveal …

A wedding. The Church is small but packed full of peasants and villagers, tenants of the Bride and Groom. He recognises them both, but they cannot see him. He isn't really there. Robin and Marian are pronounced man and wife. She has flowers in her hair and her tears of happiness leave a diamante trail down her smiling face as she leans in to kiss her new husband. Robin's eyes are closed as he melts in her embrace and returns her kiss to the rapturous cheers of their friends and allies. King Richard stands in the place where the Bride's father should be – he has given her away. If the King is there, then the Sheriff is not. Lucas cannot imagine where he's gone, or what they did with him. All that matters is that he is gone and Robin is restored to what is rightfully his, with Marian at his side. That's all Lucas needs to see, it's all he needs to know.

He tries to look away, to intrude no further on the lives of his hosts. But the scene merely blurs and reforms in a grand manor house. He recognises this place, too. It was where Guy of Gisborne lived, but lives no more. The wedding feast is elaborate and the top table filled with the Outlaws – presumably Outlaws no more. They huddle together and raise their glasses away from the other guests, and drink a toast to Lucas North – the man who made it possible. He looks to Marian for the final time and, just for one fleeting moment, a shadow of sadness passes across her face as she raises her glass and speaks his name. They do not see him as he raises his hand in a gesture of farewell.

Outside, a car alarm wails. A sound most incongruous given the rustic settings. The scene darkens again; the car alarm getting louder and closer all the time. A brisk winds whips across his body and a woman screams shrilly, almost directly in his ear. Then the car alarm! His eyes snap open and a rush of reality hits him. He is face down on the now crumpled roof of a Vauxhall Astra. Something painful is pressing into his body and his shoulder is ablaze with pain, his arm hanging limp over the side of the car, dangling. He has dropped his phone. He rolls over slowly, careful not to fall over the side of the car and realises the laptop containing the Albany file is the painful something pressing into his stomach.

He sits up, dazed as he registers the looks on the faces of the people gathering around him. Agape and uncomprehending, they stare open mouthed at him.

"Harry Pearce!" he calls out to no one in particular. "Where is Harry Pearce?"

No one steps forward, but their muttering and humming voices pierce the alarm, an alarm joined then by the wail of an ambulance. The pain in his shoulder intensifies and he looks down to see the blood dripping from an open gunshot wound. Around his neck is a leather doggy tag with the image of a longbow seared into it. It happened. It all happened. Overwhelmed, the scene begins to spin, just like the first day he arrived in Sherwood. History repeats again, and he passes out cold as the ambulance screams to a halt.

* * *

"Six weeks, Harry. Six bloody weeks."

Ruth's voice emanates from the darkness. He can no longer feel any pain, but the bed he is in is soft and warm. Machines bleep happily in the distance of his ear-range, keeping him alive. He tries to move, but the darkness is a bond, keeping him securely in place. Has it really only been six weeks? It took more than that to get to the Holy Lands. But Lucas has given up trying to make sense of how time works. Lately, it has been playing some cruel tricks on him.

"He looks like he's been living in the wild. Just look at him!"

It is Harry who speaks now.

"He looks worse now than when he came back from Russia, and that's damn well saying something."

Silence. He thinks he's in a coma. He can hear everything going on around him, but he's a prisoner to the comforting darkness that surrounds him. In all honesty, he feels disinclined to try and make contact. He wants to stay there, wherever he is and just listen to the world passing him by.

Then, Harry breaks the silence again.

"I saw him fall, Ruth. Then his body turns up exactly where it should have been six bloody weeks later. He had the Albany file on him, too-"

"What did the Home Secretary say about that?" Ruth cuts across Harry.

A pause.

"Well, after Lucas jumped and vanished in a puff of invisible smoke, I told the Home Secretary that I had misread the situation. Lucas wasn't a traitor who'd given away a massive State Secret. Lucas had, in fact, faked his own death to chase the Albany File down to get it back after the Chinese had stolen it from us."

"And he believed it?" Ruth sounds incredulous.

"What could I say, Ruth? My Section Chief had leapt from the top of the Enver Tower and then pooff! Vanished off the face of the earth? And now that Lucas has brought it back safely, it's made the story water-tight."

"But you already told the Home Secretary you gave the file to Lucas-"

"I told him that was the cover story," Harry corrected her. He heaved a sigh. "I've been in this business long enough to know how to talk my way out of even the deepest of shit."

Ruth laughs. "So, these proceedings against you?"

"Stopped."

Ruth sighs with relief. "We've still got one problem left, Harry."

His eyes stay shut, but he doesn't need to sight to tell him that they're both looking directly at him, now. He struggles against the invisible bonds that hold him in place, desperately trying to wake up as his mind screams at him to do so. He focuses every ounce of his being into raising a hand, opening his mouth, anything to show that he is still alive and still with them. But he feels nothing. Then, a chair scrapes back.

"Harry! Harry! He just moved. His hand twitched, I saw it," Ruth calls out.

"Do you think he can hear us?"

"Lucas! Lucas!"

Gentle hands are pressed against his shoulders, as if Ruth is trying to physically drag him out of his coma. Then, it's like swimming up from the depths of a pool. A rush of blood in his ears as he suddenly breaks the surface of his own unconsciousness and sits bolt upright with a start and a panic. There's a breathing tube down his throat and pulling it out makes him gag.

"Nurse! Nurse!" Harry's voice bellows out from the corner of the room.

Lucas still cannot talk, his throat is tinder dry. Even as he tries, Ruth lowers him back into his bed, fussing over him just like Djaq used to back in his cave when he had suffered his nightmares. The last time he saw Ruth, he had injected her with a powerful sedative. Now, here she is, acting like a concerned mother. As always, he could not read Harry's expression as he made himself visible to Lucas. He was about to speak when the nurse came bustling in, and she shooed them both away.

* * *

His wounds are patched up in fresh dressings after he is given a bed bath with warm, clean water. He brushes his teeth using real toothpaste. He shaves, with proper razors and foam. He reacquaints himself with indoor plumbing. All the creature comforts he has missed so sorely; so much so he forgets that is yet to have his first proper talk with Harry. He doesn't know what he will say. He doesn't know what the future will hold. But he knows there's only one way to find out.

It happens that evening, after he is awoken from a nap by a smiling nurse. "Your Dad's here to see you, Mister North," she beams at him.

He looks towards the door, where Harry hovers just out of sight. The nurse turns away promptly, leaving them alone together. "You're much too young to be his Dad, I'm sure!" she jokes as she passes Harry. He winks in response; the old charmer that he is.

Lucas lies back against his freshly plumped pillows and turns to face Harry. "Well Dad, let me have it."

He's far from sure that this is the right moment for any form of joke. But Harry doesn't react angrily. He calmly takes a seat at Lucas's bedside and leans thoughtfully against the mattress.

"I'm not angry any more, Lucas," he says. "And God knows you're not the first of my colleagues to hold me at gunpoint. Tom Quinn even shot me, once. Then there was Ros and the whole Yalta business. That was before you came back to us, of course. But they all come back to me, in the end. I'll get you back, yet."

Lucas turns away as a rush of emotion sweeps over him. "Even now? After everything I did?"

There's a pause while Harry considers the point. "There's a lot about these events that simply cannot be explained," he says. "I told the people who found you on top of that car that you're a stuntman who's stunt on top of the Enver Tower was a job gone wrong. But you and I both know that's bollocks. In fact, they probably know it's bollocks. But they'll latch on to anything that explains the seemingly inexplicable. But you and I both know there was six weeks between your jump and your hitting that ground. You brought Albany back, but I found out five weeks ago that the Chinese said it had vanished on them. I'm not going to ask for a full explanation, Lucas. I'm just satisfied that you got it back and did the right thing by MI5 and the nation."

Lucas's voice is tremulous when he replies. "I was out of my mind, Harry," he states hoarsely. "I didn't know what I was doing, and I can't explain it properly."

"I know," replies Harry, placing a reassuring hand on Lucas's shoulder. "This time, you understand, I can't let you come back to work right away. You will need time to recover, to get your strength back and … well…"

Lucas raises a small smile. "Tring it is, then?"

"Only for a while; only until you're well again and you've stopped having delusions about some guy called John Bateman."

Lucas frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Men like Vaughn Edwards; they get inside your head. They make you believe all sorts of things, they fuck you up in ways complicated and uncomplicated. I do wish you had mentioned him earlier, Lucas. We could have sorted it out much, much sooner."

"But, Dakar?"

"I think you've paid the price for that, don't you?" Harry replies, firmly, making it clear this subject is almost closed. "I think you'll go on paying the price for that through providing outstanding services to the protection of this great nation of ours. Once you're feeling better of course."

Lucas vision blurs again and he turns away.

"I can see you're tired," Harry says, getting up to leave. "But don't mind Ruth coming in after me. She wants to speak with you."

He doesn't object. However, while Harry is leaving, Lucas hastily wipes his eye on the corner of his bed sheet. When Ruth enters the room just as Harry is leaving, he is able to look up at her and give her a clear eyed smile.

"Sorry I almost poisoned you," he says. "I would never have let you die, though. Not even at my craziest."

Ruth gives short laugh. "I know, Lucas. I know."

She pauses for a moment, fussing over his bedclothes and he hopes she doesn't notice the still damp tear stains on his sheet. However, she continues talking as though she had seen nothing.

"Strange thing, the Albany File," she says, sitting back in her seat. "I don't think it was ever tested properly. All sorts of coding went into it, so it most definitely does something. Just, not what it was intended to do." She pauses and shrugs. "Who knows! All that matters is that we have it, and you, back. I tell you what else is funny. History. The way I look at History is, it's a big tapestry that tells a story. Whether it's true or not, it doesn't matter. But, let's use the Beyeaux Tapestry as an example: if you changed just one thread stitched into that Tapestry, you alter the rest of the picture along with it. Say you unpick the arrow from Harold Godwinson's eye, then there would be no William of Normandy. And because there's no William of Normandy, it resonates down the centuries. It changes everything. The whole Royal Family that we have today would be totally different, and it all spreads out from there."

Lucas is listening intently. Ruth is the most intelligent person he has ever met. Some found her dull as a consequence, but he always found her enthralling and, when he felt able to add to what she said, he always felt like a schoolboy trying to win the approval of his favourite teacher. This is another such occasion.

"So, let's just say I saw another tapestry and I had to unpick the threads that showed a girl dying from a sword in her stomach, put there by a man who said he loved her."

"Yes, that's sort of right. But would be easier to unpick him, then there would be no sword and the girl would live on, she's the ripple effect that brings on the great changes to the bigger picture," she adds.

Lucas sighs with relief. "Yes, that's what I would do. I would unpick his threads from the tapestry."

Ruth gives herself a shake and blushes. "I'm so sorry Lucas, I went off at a complete tangent there," she says, looking embarrassed still. "You know what I'm like! But anyway, I like that necklace. I didn't know you were into arts and crafts. It looks hand made."

He touches the doggy tag at his neck. "An old friend gave it to me," he explains with a grin.

Ruth nods her approval. "By the way, I had to look through your phone. Harry's orders, you understand," she says, blushing a little deeper.

"Naturally," he replies, frowning again. "It's not your fault. You'd have to have done the same for anyone in my situation."

Ruth nods. "Yes, yes," she replies. "But, one of the video files I found on there…" her voice trails off, and this time it is Lucas who turns scarlet with embarrassment. He can guess what's coming next. "What is it, Lucas? Some sort of role play? I mean, don't be embarrassed: whatever get's you through the night. It must be wonderful escapism, especially after your ordeal."

"It's not what you think, I promise-"

She cuts him off, though.

"No, it was so authentic! The man playing the Sheriff was wickedly funny and you looked-" she suddenly stops herself and her colour deepens even further. "Well, the black leather really suited you, Lucas. Really, quite the lady killer.." her voice trails off as she realises just how much she's embarrassing them both. "I'll stop talking now, shall I? But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Lucas forces himself to smile as Ruth hands back the phone. It must have been handed to her after he dropped it in the city, by the Vauxhall. They bid each other an awkward farewell, both dying of embarrassment for entirely different reasons. As she reaches the door, however, he pulls himself together.

"Ruth!" he calls after her. "I meant what I said back there: you should marry him."

She looks back at him from the doorway, confusion briefly in her eyes. Then she realises he's talking about Harry. Her face lights up in a smile.

"Who knows, Lucas," she replies, wrapping her coat around her. "Who knows."

After she has gone, he watched the spot where she stood as though she were still there for several minutes. Then, he laughs to himself as he flips open the phone and watches it sparking into life. Its battery has been fully recharged. God alone knows what Ruth must make of him now, but it doesn't matter. She won' t tell anyone about his moonlighting as Guy of Gisborne.

Lucas scrolls through the video files until he finds the meeting of the Black Knights and watches it one more time. Marian is there, with Guy and the Sheriff. It finishes, and the screen goes dark. He clicks on the file again, and deletes it, picking away another thread from the tapestry of his own, personal, history.

**~the end~**

* * *

Now the story is definitely over! Once again, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this. It's been a joy and you're all fabulous!


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